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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28943325">Notorious</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/bek_48/pseuds/bek_48'>bek_48</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Espionage, F/M, Flashbacks, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Horror, POV Alternating, Thriller</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 09:35:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>121,518</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28943325</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/bek_48/pseuds/bek_48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Nearly ten years after Hogwarts, several lives converge together in Egypt, each with varying goals. Hermione is on a quest to locate an ancient magical artifact. Draco is running from something in his past, and has a mysterious angle of his own. Astoria just wants to get married and live happily ever after, while Daphne desperately wants to protect her sister - at any cost.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>297</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>405</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>just absolutely brilliant pieces of work</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Astoria 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A/N: Story title and some plot concepts liberally borrowed from the movie Notorious (1946 - beware of vague 75 year old spoilers!)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Astoria Greengrass, though she has always had a quiet respect for the power held within visions, has never considered the fact that she might be important enough to be the central figure in a strange, symbolic, prophetic type of dream.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It almost seems rather silly, really, as her fiancé likes to remind her from time to time. After all, he tells her with a wink, the most pressing concern in her life at the moment is to ensure that the invitations to her next gala will be properly color coordinated with the Estate’s decor. It is hardly an activity generally steeped in dark magic these days.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She has to acknowledge that he is quite likely correct, and yet she does have odd bouts of dreams, from time to time. Nightmares, really, is a more accurate categorization of the awful things.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One particularly disturbing recurring vision involves her setting sail on a ship as black as coal, floating ever forward along a river of dark red blood. She sees the safety of land straight ahead, but she’s not sure if she’ll make it. Her ship is being chased by some sort of demon - she can’t see him, but he’s made of fire, and she can feel the breath of it’s flames hot on the back of her neck.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She turns to her dear sister on her left to ask for advice. Daphne’s lips curl into a sneer as she turns back to regard the approaching fiery maelstrom curiously.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Next, she turns to her fiancé on her right. Draco smiles at her sadly and turns away. She reaches for his hand, but she phases through him as he shimmers brightly for a moment and disappears.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She is alone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She is desperately alone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The demon gets closer, and she’s not going to make it to land.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She takes a shuddering breath. She begins to turn to face the </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing</span>
  </em>
  <span> that is chasing her, and-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And she always wakes up, skin still feeling hot and tasting ash in her mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s fairly embarrassing, really, and she still doubts the relevance of these sorts of nightmares entirely. When she had finally worked up the courage to confess the details of the odd dreams to the two who make an appearance, their reactions had been perhaps politely muted, at best.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne Greengrass had raised a dubious eyebrow and responded with a dismissive laugh. “You shouldn’t worry your pretty little head about such silly things, Tori. It’ll make your hair go grey, and we certainly can’t have </span>
  <em>
    <span>that.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco Malfoy had raised an even more dubious eyebrow and smiled that sweet, lovely smile that he seems to save only for her. “I’ve long thought divination is rubbish, you know. Besides, if I ever run away screaming from a fire demon, you’d better believe I will take you along with me, love.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She had tilted her head at him and smiled back, comforted as ever by him. “I never said you were running away screaming.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh I promise you, if I ever see a fire demon? I will assuredly be running away screaming, no doubt about it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His little grin had been enough for her to continue to inform him about these occasional nightmares, if only to hear him make a joke or call her silly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She observes her fiancé with a smile. Despite his occasional surliness, and despite her sister's negative option, he really is quite a perfect connection. Handsome, wealthy, and from a distinguished (if somewhat constantly suffering through a bit of an ongoing political disgrace) family.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The way he smiles at her makes her feel like the luckiest woman in the world. She finds herself quite easily able to forgive him the indiscretions of his past. His time in Paris had been - just that, an indiscretion, and nothing more.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Meeting him again in Cairo of all places over the summer after having dallianced so long ago had been something like fate. On his first day in the city, he had come to the Museum of Mythological Magick’s lounge for tea, where he couldn’t have possibly known that she attended every Thursday afternoon with Daphne. When their eyes met across the room, he had looked up at her and smiled with those striking grey eyes, and she had known immediately that she had never stopped loving him. His proposal had been sweet and simple, although it had taken some teasing on her part to give him the confidence to take the step.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His leg is shaking up and down with an abundance of nervous energy. His face looks somewhat more drawn than usual. She sips her tea and reaches over to squeeze his hand. She is preparing to ask him what he’s thinking about when her sister frowns and shifts next to her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is that - excuse me, isn’t that Hermione Granger just over there?” Daphne asks with a somewhat dubious frown, gazing across the lounge towards the doorway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She notices Draco still as he looks over, frowning fairly intensely as his bouncing leg stills. She follows their gazes and thinks her sister may be correct.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It rather looks like her, doesn’t it?” she admits tentatively.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco’s jaw clenches as he eyes the woman, but he says nothing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria narrows her eyes and takes a closer look. It is without a doubt, Hermione Granger. She remembers the woman quite well from school, though she is sure the other party would have no memory of a seemingly innocuous event that occurred so many years ago. Astoria had been just another lost first-year wandering the Hogwarts corridors in a daze, and THE Hermione Granger had deigned to very politely and smilingly show her the proper direction to the transfiguration classroom. From then on, there was an occasional friendly nod in the hallway, or a smile across a courtyard, and she found herself somewhat defensive of Harry Potter’s Best Friend, despite the vehement objections of her housemates.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That friendly demeanor seems to only exist in her memory now. Across the room, Granger looks </span>
  <em>
    <span>cold,</span>
  </em>
  <span> with no emotion making its way onto her face. Her face is entirely sharp angles, as though cut from stone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne’s lips curl into something of a sneer. “You never fucked her at Hogwarts, did you Draco?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If anything, Draco’s lips curl into a state of greater disgust than Daphne’s. “Absolutely not.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She wasn’t so bad,” Astoria offers tentatively, shooting Daphne a look of annoyance. “Shouldn’t we invite her over? She’s all alone, and I can’t imagine ingratiating oneself into Cairo society without any connections.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She cannot tell who is more disgusted with the idea, Daphne or Draco.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Draco,” she murmurs with a nudge and a light smile. “Please? I’d introduce myself, though I doubt she would remember me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco sighs deeply for a moment before turning to face her with an easy smile. He leans in and kisses her lightly on the month, and her heart flutters in that way that it likes to do when he focuses his attention on her alone. He tends to sneer at the world, but saves his precious few smiles for her. Although she wishes the rest of the world could see him as she does, she feels quite special being on the receiving end of his gentle gaze.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I rather wish she didn’t remember me. However, for you, my dear, of course I will.” Draco stands to leave, and she smiles at his retreating form.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That was a mistake,” Daphne half-sings from across the table. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What was?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her sister grins somewhat wickedly. “Didn’t I ever tell you? He was mad for Hermione Granger back in our school days, we all thought so. If you’ve half a mind, you’ll keep the lech away from her.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She frowns deeply for a moment, turning to observe her beloved. Draco is chatting with Granger, sure, but they don’t look particularly inclined towards each other. If anything, Draco is wearing that awful sneer on his face that she quite dislikes, while the woman continues to look stone-faced.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Draco gestures towards their table, she plasters a polite smile on her face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t be ridiculous, Daph, I hardly believe that. And even if it is true, which it certainly is not, Hogwarts was ages ago. Besides - I trust Draco.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Merlin knows why,” Daphne mutters, and she doesn’t have to look at her sister to know her eyes are rolling. “Poisonous toadstools don’t change their spots. After all his whoremongering in Paris? And you’ve only been dating him for six months! Don’t be naive, Tori.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’ve been over this,” she bristles, lowering her voice as Draco and Hermione start to walk in their direction. “He’s my fiancé, and I love him. Besides, we dated for nearly two years last time. Do be polite, won’t you? For my sake?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne sighs dramatically, but flashes an insincerely bright smile. “For you, my dear, of course I will.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ladies, I’m sure you both know Hermione Granger,” Draco begins, approaching the table with the woman herself. “Granger, surely you remember Daphne Greengrass from school. And this is Astoria Greengrass, my fiancée.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She notices two things, then. Firstly, that Draco had placed something of an emphasis on the word ‘fiancée,’ which makes her simultaneously pleased yet somewhat uneasy, though she is unable to mentally articulate why. Secondly, that Hermione Granger’s deep brown eyes flicker for the briefest moment before settling back into that cold emotionless state, with a terse smile on her face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course, I remember you both well. Nice to see you again.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She allows herself a brief giddy feeling of Hermione remembering who she is after so many years.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A pleasure, indeed,” drawls Daphne, and Astoria wonders if Hermione knew her sister well enough at school to detect the obvious disingenuity. “How lovely. We should see if our dear Blaise Zabini is still in the country. So many of us here together, what are the odds, I wonder? We could have ourselves a veritable Hogwarts class reunion!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know, I haven’t seen Blaise for a time. Not since that dinner party at the Estate shortly after I arrived in Cairo,” Draco says as he gestures for Hermione to take the extra seat at their table before settling back into his spot next to Astoria.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shifts a little uncomfortably in her seat thinking of Blaise, but when he takes her hand and kisses it gently, her heart flutters for a moment, though she belatedly notes that he is looking at their new table-mate with something of a challenge in his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione watches them expressionlessly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne shrugs languidly, watching the scene in front of her as she sips her tea. “Yes, well, you know how Blaise is. Maybe he swapped places with you, Draco, and is living it up in Paris, hmm?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco frowns and leans back in his chair, dropping her hand and glowering at Daphne.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria clears her throat awkwardly. “So, Hermione, what brings you to Cairo?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Work. I’m in the magiarchaeology field. I’m sure you can imagine, there is quite a lot to study in Egypt,” the woman replies quickly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Magiarcheology!” laughs Daphne, somewhat rudely. “Oh, Tori, like those old Agatha Vixen books Mum used to read to you, do you remember?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She blushes and nods.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco levels Hermione with a stare and a smirk for a beat before he raises an amused eyebrow and turns back to her, murmuring, “Agatha Vixen! I remember those silly books.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Very</span>
  </em>
  <span> silly books - I used to love them when I was a girl,” she whispers in response, and her mind floods with images of Hermione adventuring around the world raiding tombs in search of ancient magical relics.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Running around getting into fisticuffs with mummies and searching for hidden treasures, are you, Granger?” Draco asks with a smirk.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I assume you’re keeping current on the children’s books series then, Malfoy? Sorry to disappoint, but generally there’s nothing so fun for me as compared to Ms. Vixen, unfortunately,” Hermione continues, mouth twitching into something resembling a smile. “I’ve some research to do at the pyramids. Cairo seemed as reasonable a place as any to stay in the meantime. I’ve been intending to come to this museum for a number of years, in fact.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Research,” repeats Daphne with a frown. “What, for the Ministry? What sort of business do they have out here?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, not for the Ministry. I’ve been contracted by the History of Magic Department at Beauxbatons.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne’s smile is sardonic at best. “I might have sworn you were working for the Ministry, along with Potter and your Weasley. Not true?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At that, even Draco glances at Daphne sharply while Astoria herself cringes, sure that Daphne is being intentionally cruel by mentioning the famously dead man.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione eyes Daphne coldly and shrugs. “I’ve done the occasional contract for them over the years, though not often. Harry was an auror for a time. He’s a professor at Hogwarts now. He left the aurors, of course, after Ron’s death.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria glances between her three companions, a little impressed with Hermione’s blunt response. Daphne seems disappointed in the fact that she had been unsuccessful in her attempt to rile the woman, and Draco looks - well, almost as blank as Hermione. She watches him quietly for a moment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Beauxbatons, hmm?” Daphne continues her interrogation, and Astoria makes a note to have a stern discussion with her sister in private for being so impolite. “Did you ever see our dear Draco in France? Surely he was out in society quite often enough.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne and Draco eye each other sharply, with equally sneering faces. Astoria reaches for Draco’s hand instinctively and gives him a comforting squeeze, which goes sadly unacknowledged.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione’s features remain schooled as Astoria observes her closely, awaiting her response somewhat breathlessly. “A number of years ago, though I expect your dear Draco may not recall it so clearly. Professor Devlin hosted a charity event to raise money for purchasing school books for orphaned Beauxbatons students. Does that sound accurate, Malfoy?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria watches the two of them turn towards each other and make eye contact, and she is further convinced that Daphne had been full of nonsense earlier. Two people could not possibly be less romantically inclined towards each other than the two seated in front of her. Draco’s eyes are sharp, and Hermione’s are indifferent.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne has a raised eyebrow and a light smirk on her face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco, for his part, shrugs leisurely. “I don’t recall. As much as I </span>
  <em>
    <span>love</span>
  </em>
  <span> being charitable, I can say that if there was an open bar, I’m confident that I was there. Those were dark days for me, I’m afraid, though they’re long behind me.” He lifts the small teacup in the air and tilts it in a salute towards the table with a smirk. “For the most part.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You mean they don’t serve firewhiskey at the museum’s tea lounge?” Hermione asks dryly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m afraid not,” Draco sighs wistfully. “Though a wise old bartender once said to me that you can’t always get what you want. I think about that often at times like this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione watches him closely for a moment, as if categorizing him. “I’m not sure your bartender was as wise as you think. That’s a line from a fairly famous muggle song, you know.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A muggle song! How awful. Perhaps she was taunting me then,” Draco grins, and something in Astoria’s stomach shifts uneasily at the familiarity of the banter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione’s eyes stay impassive as she shrugs and turns back to Daphne. “In any case, I suppose the answer to your question, Daphne, is more or less a no.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hm,” Daphne replies with a light smile and a glint in her eyes as she glances back and forth between Draco and Hermione.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where are you staying, Hermione?” Astoria interrupts earnestly, feeling Daphne’s rudeness most keenly and quite uncomfortable with the tension in the air. “Do you have any acquaintances here in Cairo?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione turns back to her with that something-like-a-smile, cold eyes seeming just a little sad for a moment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The conversation continues on in the same stilted manner, with Hermione confirming that she is staying locally at the Hotel Shenei, and that she has very few acquaintances in the area, though she has yet to look up her contacts with Gringotts who are present on occasion.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria manages to withstand withering glares from both Daphne and Draco as she extends an invitation to tea the following day at the Greengrass Estate, which Hermione dubiously (though politely) accepts before announcing that it was so nice catching up but that she had best be off for the day.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How lovely it’s been to see you again, after so many years,” Daphne’s smile remains sneering and ugly. “Draco, be a dear and escort our ‘friend’ to the exit? It’s such a large museum, I’d be loath to find out she got lost on the way out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you, but I managed to navigate my way in. I’m sure I can find my own way out,” Hermione replies with a frown and a glance at Draco.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, dear, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>insist,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> replies Daphne saccharinly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco glares in turn at Daphne and then Hermione, before turning to Astoria with softer eyes and a weary smile. She almost hopes for a moment that he’ll refuse, though surely he won’t. “It’s not a problem.” He leans in and kisses her chastly on the lips again. She can feel the gazes of the other two at the table and she blushes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, Granger?” Draco stands and gestures towards the restaurant exit. “Don’t stray too far. I’m told the sphinx gets hungry from time to time. Won a riddling contest against some foolish wizard last year and then ate him right up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She watches them closely as they depart. Draco is standing a little closer to Hermione as they walk away than she would prefer, but that hardly means anything. No, no, no, Daphne is entirely wrong. Their eyes waver between mild indifference and mild dislike whenever they look at each other. She even finds herself feeling inclined to have a talk with Draco and convince him to be nicer to the woman, for Merlin’s sake.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne’s smirking face is deeply irritating at the moment. She is twirling the beautiful, bright red ring that used to belong to their mother around her finger, smirk widening.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What is it?” she snaps at her sister testily.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne shrugs innocently, reaching up to tuck a strand of Astoria’s hair behind her ear. “I didn’t say a word. You look an awful lot like Mother when you wear your hair like this, did you know that? Such a pretty thing you are.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you not just warn me to keep them away from each other? Why are you suddenly sending them off together?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“To warn you, dear sister.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm. My guardian angel, are you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Always, love. Go ahead and invite Granger to tea and parties, and try to be her friend if you like. I’d bet my last knut that she’s here to steal Draco out from under your nose.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria scoffs. “That’s rich, coming from you. If you spend your last knut, I’m sure Father will be more than happy to replenish your supply.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne grins and pokes her lightly in the side. “True enough. That said, Tori, I do mean it - I don’t like the idea of having her around the Estate. She’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>connected, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and I don’t believe for a minute that she has as little to do with the Ministry as she claims.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria sighs heavily and rolls her eyes. “What - you think she came by today angling for an invitation to the Estate? That she’s going to come to tea and then sneak around like Agatha Vixen looking for - for what, exactly? For contraband? For ancient magical artifacts? All by herself? Come off it, Daph.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne lets out a sharp laugh and tosses back the remainder of her wine glass. “It’s just a warning, Tori. If she ends up fucking your beloved fiancé or simply calling Potter over to drag us off to the Ministry in chains, don’t come crying to me. Just - please be cautious around her, yeah? Promise me? I do so dislike worrying about you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria scowls, but nods hesitantly, mostly to get Daphne to hush. She is fairly confident that she needn’t worry about either of Daphne’s concerns. She loves Draco, and she is sure that Draco loves her. And besides, the protective enchantments on the Estate are incredibly powerful - even Draco hasn’t yet seen the treasure trove hidden in the wine cellar. Surely, there is nothing to fear.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She takes another sip of tea and thinks about the Estate cellar, absently noting that there certainly is an artifact or two being stored down there that an margiarchaeologist like Hermione Granger might be incredibly interested in.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Astoria 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Astoria is sailing on a ship as black as coal, floating ever forward along a river of dark red blood. She sees the safety of land straight ahead, but she’s not sure if she’ll make it. Her ship is being chased by some sort of demon - she can see his shadowy outline through the darkness, and he’s made of fire. She can feel the breath of it’s flames hot on the back of her neck.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She turns to her dear sister on her left. Daphne turns back to regard the approaching fiery maelstrom curiously, reaching a burning hand outwards as if in greeting and it makes her heart shudder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She turns to her fiancé on her right. Draco smiles at her sadly and turns away. She reaches for his hand, but he steps away, following a beautiful, glowing phoenix. While the </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing</span>
  </em>
  <span> behind her is an ugly, destructive sort of flame, the bird exudes a different kind of bright light and calls to her in a funny language she cannot understand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco is gone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She is alone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She is desperately alone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The demon gets closer, and she’s not going to make it to land.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She takes a shuddering breath. She begins to turn to face the </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing</span>
  </em>
  <span> that is chasing her, and-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And she awakens, skin still feeling hot and tasting ash in her mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Forging onwards and doing her best to ignore the odd nightmares, Astoria has become committed to becoming friends with Hermione Granger.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Despite that commitment, Daphne’s warnings weigh heavily on her mind over the next several weeks. She has sat to tea with Hermione Granger no less than three times, and they have shared meals together on five occasions, in addition to sitting through one nundu race. Draco has been present for six of the nine interactions, while Daphne has made four appearances. She has helped introduce Hermione to wizarding society in Cairo, to include the best restaurants as well as the who’s who of local company to keep. Every now and again, she almost thinks that her commitment is paying off and that they may be encroaching upon an actual friendship, perhaps.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne continues to egg her on with suspicions about Hermione, while Draco rarely does more than stare at the woman in a surly manner. Astoria wonders occasionally why Hermione even agrees to attend these gatherings. Between Daphne’s rudeness and Draco’s indifference, she herself has attempted to make up for the social negligence with excessive politeness, and whenever she manages to win a smile from Hermione, something in her swells with pride.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione, for her part, has remained polite yet distant, though she certainly hasn’t shadily sulked around the Estate on the hunt for any sorts of Dark Artifacts or whatever plots Daphne has in mind for her. She tends to avoid Draco’s stares more often than not, but every now and again when he isn’t looking, Astoria has noticed that she levels him with an intense gaze. But - it’s a frowning gaze, and although it’s the most emotion she ever sees displayed by Hermione, it’s something akin more to a simmering rage than anything else. A far cry from love, regardless of Daphne’s cajoling.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No, indeed, everything is </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Besides, with their pending nuptials just around the corner, she and Draco will be husband and wife soon enough, and any odd lingering stares will certainly cease.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She’s quite beautiful, isn’t she?” she had observed to Draco one evening after a dinner with Hermione, with her heart beating heavily.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco had paused for just a moment too long. “Granger? I suppose so.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before she could even gather her thoughts to accuse him of - nothing, really, except for </span>
  <em>
    <span>looking </span>
  </em>
  <span>at the woman far too often - he had walked over and smiled down at her, placing a gentle kiss on her lips and sufficiently distracting her for the rest of the evening.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She finds herself observing Hermione nearly obsessively one evening as the foursome sit in the parlor for tea. The kind young girl she remembers from Hogwarts is certainly long gone, and Astoria wonders if she ever truly existed in the first place. Despite the facade of politeness and participation in conversation, Hermione has certainly held them all at arm’s length, rarely answering personal questions with much in the way of details and always watching them all with those cold, cold eyes. And yet, she finds herself feeling nearly desperate to break through.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Despite the warm Egyptian air, there is a fire rolling in the fireplace. The firelight flickers on Daphne’s face, more smirking and conniving than ever, and it looks as though she is about to stir up some trouble when they hear footsteps and the murmurs of a conversation approaching them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After a moment, her father steps grandly into the room and looks around with a smile. Two men, one her father’s age and one quite a bit younger, and a striking young woman trail in after him. She recognizes them all, and rather uneasily prepares for introductions.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah, my lovely daughters,” greets her father with a smile and a glance around the room. “Draco, of course, good man.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sir.” Draco rises and the two men shake hands enthusiastically, and her heart swells for a moment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her father turns to look at Hermione, holding his smile in place, though she notices it tighten somewhat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Father,” she interrupts with a light smile. “Please meet Hermione Granger. She was a schoolmate of ours at Hogwarts, and is here in Egypt for a research project.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hermione Granger,” her father repeats, his smile firmly planted in place. “I’ve heard of you, of course. An honor to have a war heroine in my own home.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you. Nice to meet you as well, Mr. Greengrass.” Hermione allows the briefest twitch of her lips and inclines her head in acknowledgement before glancing at the other arrivees.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Please, call me Gideon,” her father continues benevolently. “Allow me to introduce you to Sebek-ari, a long-time friend and colleague of mine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A pleasure,” greets Sebek-ari in a voice cold enough to rival Hermione’s. It’s the voice he reserves for business, and the one Astoria does not particularly like.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And Danny Kershaw - he is in the country for research as well.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Miss Granger,” Danny greets with a friendly grin. “You may not remember this, but we’ve met briefly before, you and I. It was at a conference in Paris - Professor Devlin gave a lecture about Magical Hieroglyphs and Logograms, it was fascinating!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione nods and a smile flickers upon her face. “I remember, Mr. Kershaw, and it was. Nice to see you again.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ackerly Viridian and I are working on an alchemy project - do you know him?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I haven’t had the pleasure,” Hermione responds.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I would be honored to introduce you, if you like.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco shifts heavily next to her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria decides that she should fix Hermione and Danny up on a date. Danny is a decent sort. Surely, Hermione could use a nice distraction and diversity of company, rather than being nearly forced to sit around and exchange intensely grumpy faces with Draco while getting casually insulted by Daphne.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Violet Evilian,” the woman introduces herself with the hint of a challenging smirk in her voice. “I work for Mr. Sebek-ari.” Violet is strikingly beautiful, with long blond hair and deep, purplish eyes. There is a faintly menacing aura emanating from the woman, and it smells of foul magic.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria restrains herself from shuddering, having long been deeply uncomfortable around the woman and wishing her father and Sebek-ari wouldn’t keep such company. She almost wants to warn Hermione to keep her guard up, though she finds that to be entirely unnecessary, as Hermione’s guard always seems to be up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione stares at Violet for a long moment, and Astoria finds herself holding her breath and wondering why she feels as though there is some unspoken thing going on under the surface in the parlor of which she is the only person who remains unaware. All eyes in the room are focused on them. The two women maintain an eye contact so sharp that she can nearly feel the energy charging between them, and she nearly expects them to reach for their wands and start duelling right then and there.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco leans forward uneasily next to her, and she cautiously reaches out to take his hand. When she squeezes it reassuringly, he makes no acknowledgement, continuing to regard the scene intently.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nice to meet you,” Hermione eventually replies neutrally.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The tension seems to fizzle after that. Draco lets out a slow, deep exhale.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My apologies to you both, Draco, Miss Granger, but I need to borrow my daughters for a few moments. Girls?” Father gestures to the doorway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her heart sinks, displeased for a number of reasons. Sebek-ari and Violet make her uneasy enough, and the thought of leaving Draco and Hermione alone together-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Doesn’t bother her at all, because </span>
  <em>
    <span>she trusts him.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Besides, more likely than not the two of them will only sit around and glare at each other, speaking nary a word-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Might Draco come as well?” she blurts out, ashamed at how girlish and small her voice sounds.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her father pauses for a moment, glancing over at Draco with a pleasant smile. “Only the family for now. But, soon enough, eh Draco?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione’s eyes flicker very briefly up to Draco, who has a wan smile on his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As she and Daphne follow the group out of the room, she spares one last glance behind her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco and Hermione are- </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sitting across from each other, saying nothing, but they-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They’re looking at each other.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She banishes any ridiculous thoughts from her head and pointedly ignores Daphne as they follow their father down the long hallway before descending the steps to the cellar. At her father’s whispered words, Violet leans against the wall of the corridor with her arms crossed, playing a menacing sort of guard.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria shuffles past the woman and avoids eye contact.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ll see, gentlemen, that everything is secure and progressing on schedule,” her father explains as he casts the spells to remove the protective charms on the door. “These enchantments are of the highest security, similar to what you’ll see at the most secure Gringotts vaults. The key, Astoria, if you please.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She nods, removing the chain from her clutch with a number of small keys attached to it. The key to the cellar fairly thrums comfortingly in her hand as she holds it before passing it to her father.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He smiles proudly at her as he takes it, then moves to unlock the door and usher the group in, leaving Violet outside the door to watch the hallway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria hates being down in the cellar. It feels oppressive, heavy, awful. With the magic suppressing nature of the walls, she feels uncomfortable and defenseless. She wants to spin on her heel and run back upstairs to Draco and have him hold her comfortingly, and she wants to make sure he is still sitting about quietly, ignoring Hermione entirely.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The cellar is filled with expensive varieties of wine, though there is one section in particular that her father guides them towards.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re to receive three more shipments of, ah, 1997 elderwine, and by All Hallow’s Eve, when death is in the air and the veil between worlds is weakest, we’ll be prepared for the - </span>
  <em>
    <span>test.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria shifts uneasily, glancing about the room. Her father has a confident smile on his face. Daphne’s face is intensely, almost maniacally focused. Danny seems a little put off, yet enthusiastic at the same time. Sebek-ari, on the other hand-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s wrong, Sebek-ari?” Father inquires. “You look uneasy, my old friend.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sebek-ari does indeed look perturbed, so far as Astoria can tell. Despite having known the man since she was in nappies, she occasionally still has a difficult time grasping his emotional state. His face is hard, and he hardly resembles the man who used to sneak her sweets when her mother’s back was turned.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hasn’t been as involved in all of this ritual preparation as Daphne has been, at any rate, and is far less comfortable amongst the players.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The Granger girl,” Sebek-ari starts with a frown. “I dislike the fact that she is here, in this house, at this time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria blanches at that, immediately concerned that her polite invitation to tea might inadvertently result in Hermione getting murdered in Astoria’s maternal ancestral home.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne glances over for a moment as if sensing her unease before barking out a sharp laugh. “Come now, Sebek-ari. Granger doesn’t come with Potter attached to her hip, not anymore. She’ll have no impact on the plan, that’s for certain. Astoria here is the only one with something to fear - her naughty little fiancé is desperate to go back to his womanizing ways. You should see the way he stares at her!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Daphne-!” she whispers haltingly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne grins somewhat evilly before turning back to Sebek-ari. “In any case, she’s here from Beauxbaton researching some dusty old tombs. I’ve had it checked out, her business here is legitimate. Our contacts with the Ministry indicated that she helps them with translations from time to time, but she is not under their employ.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She frowns at that, wondering when Daphne decided to insert herself so significantly in the family’s business and how it managed to happen without her own knowledge.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Besides,” interrupts her father, with nary a raised eyebrow of concern at his future son-in-laws alleged affairs. “With Zabini - ah, out of town, we have nothing to fear. He might have clued her in whether he meant to or not. And if she does try to </span>
  <em>
    <span>get involved,</span>
  </em>
  <span> we have Violet here to take care of things. And you’ve a history with the girl, don’t you Violet?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She glances over and sees Violet still nonchalantly leaning against the wall outside the cellar, keeping an eye on the hallway. She thinks about Blaise Zabini for a moment, and how the last time she saw him before his ‘trip,’ Violet had been the one to escort him out of the house.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Violet smirks at them and nods dangerously. “Oh yes, I certainly do. Though I’m not sure she’s aware of it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria briefly reflects on Hermione’s intense stare during their introduction, and thinks that Violet should know better than to underestimate Hermione, who certainly does know whatever it is that Violet has done in the past. She decides not to voice her thoughts at this time, with there being enough uneasy faces in the room, and she surely does not want to increase the odds of Hermione’s potential discomfort at the hands of such a woman before the evening is out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her father and Sebek-ari continue to discuss their plans, mostly the logistics of moving the contraband without raising suspicions. She realizes she should feel grateful to her father for trusting her enough to be included in the conversations, let alone being the guardian of the cellar key, but she finds her thoughts drifting to the parlor room as the discussion turns to permits and the like.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When the business is concluded, she slips the key into her clutch and rushes back to the parlor somewhat uneasily where she finds Draco alone, lounging on a chair and reading. He glances up when she walks in and smiles lightly, that soft, sweet smile that he saves only for her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where’s Hermione?” she asks, not a little nervously.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shrugs, closing his book and letting out a heavy sigh. “She left a short time ago. Don’t worry, love - I walked her to the door and everything. I was </span>
  <em>
    <span>excessively</span>
  </em>
  <span> polite, it was rather exhausting. I think she actually drove herself here in one of those muggle cars, can you imagine?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She lets out a sharp breath in relief, pleased not to have to worry about stumbling upon Hermione’s corpse in the middle of the night. She walks over to him and takes a hold of his hand, bringing it to her lips gently. “You’re a good man, Draco.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He watches her closely for a moment, and when he smiles again it almost seems a little bit sad.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shakes her head in an attempt to clear her thoughts. “What did you two talk about?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hm?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You and Hermione. Did you talk about anything?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shrugs, lowering his eyes back down to his book. “Nothing interesting, really.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She frowns, and she knows this is Daphne’s fault but the things she imagines might have happened in the room while she was gone play on a loop in her mind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>A smirk, a smile, an embrace-</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>An argument, a slap, a kiss-</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Laughing together at poor little Astoria, so ignorant-</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey,” Draco interrupts, giving her hand a squeeze. “Fine, I’ll tell you everything. We’re starting a club together - a ‘Daphne Greengrass Hates Us’ club. I’m sure we can scrounge up half of Egypt to join us for tea and crumpets.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She laughs a little at that. “She doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>hate</span>
  </em>
  <span> you, you know. She’s just protective of me. She’s a proper older sister for that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, she doesn’t need to protect you from me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he stands and smiles at her so dazzlingly for a moment before leaning in and pressing his lips to hers, her heart flutters so giddily that she is sure that he is wrong, and she certainly could use a bit of protection from how he makes her feel.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, what did you get up to with that group? Please tell me that wasn’t an impromptu bachelorette party. I can just imagine old Sebek-ari being the life of the party.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She smiles for a moment before her thoughts return to the discussion from the cellar, and her smiles rapidly turns into a bit of a frown. She really doesn’t want to talk about it, nor dwell on the activities her father is up to, and shrugs tiredly. “Nothing interesting, really.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She thinks she sees a twinge of disappointment in his eyes, but when he steps forward and takes her in his arms, she lets herself forget for just a moment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Soon enough, they’ll be married, and she’ll probably be able to tell him everything. They’ll be married, and he’ll stop staring at Hermione Granger. They’ll be married, and Hermione Granger will stop staring at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Everything will be </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Astoria 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>She is sailing on a ship as black as coal, floating ever forward along a river of dark, bubbling red blood. She sees the safety of land straight ahead, but she’s not sure if she’ll make it. Her ship is being chased by a fiery demon - she can see it, bright and terrifying through the darkness. She can feel the breath of it’s flames hot on the back of her neck.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She turns to her dear sister on her left. Daphne’s eyes are sparkling madly as she reaches out as if to join hands with the magical horror. Her own heart aches painfully, as though being sliced open by a knife from the inside.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She turns to her fiancé on her right. Draco ignores her entirely and reaches for the phoenix, perched on the bow of the boat. He gazes at it lovingly, with that look he usually saves only for her, and strokes its beautiful red feathers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The phoenix looks at her with cold brown eyes before flying away, taking Draco with her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She is alone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She is desperately alone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her heart is aching as if stabbed, she is entirely alone, the demon gets closer, and she is not going to make it to land. The faraway land shines brightly, emitting a blindingly white light hurtling towards her, swiftly yet perhaps not swift enough, and she shudders to think of the choice she will have to make when it reaches her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She takes a shuddering breath. She begins to turn to face the </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing</span>
  </em>
  <span> that is chasing her, and it has her sister’s eyes as it closes in on her, flames engulfing the ship and surrounding her, roaring high into the sky, closing further in and nearly suffocating her-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And she awakens, skin still feeling hot and tasting ash in her mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It is the day of her wedding.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mrs. Astoria Malfoy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It has quite a nice ring to it, she thinks, gazing at her wedding ring with a happy smile. The ring, of course, is a Malfoy family heirloom, and she thinks it looks perfectly proper resting upon her hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her father had given her a gentle hug before the wedding ceremony. “You look so much like your mother.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sebek-ari of all people, the hard man that he was, had managed an actual genuine smile. She had been somewhat stunned, rare as his smiles were, and she thought he looked much pleasanter wearing one. He had even braved the dance floor twice, once with each sister, which is perhaps even more stunning. “Your mother would be so proud of you.” He had sounded wistful enough that her heart twinged in her chest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mum would be </span>
  <em>
    <span>laughing</span>
  </em>
  <span> at you,” Daphne had corrected later on, out of earshot of the two men as she twirled their mother’s ruby ring on her finger. “Believe me, Tori.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She had scowled and ignored her sister pointedly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The wedding ceremony was lovely. Perfectly pleasant, with nearly three hundred people in attendance, though not including the groom’s parents. Largely friends of the family, or her father’s associates. Friends from Hogwarts as well - mostly their fellow Slytherins, though Blaise Zabini was conspicuously absent. One particular Gryffindor, however, had made an appearance.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yes, she had ensured that Hermione Granger received an invitation to the wedding. Not to prove any particular point, however. It was simply the proper thing to do.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione greeted them at the end in the reception line with a perfectly polite smile and no more than the usual amount of eye contact with Draco.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Everything was </span>
  <em>
    <span>wonderful.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Their honeymoon trip to Australia had been brief, but charming, with Draco not particularly inclined to remain away from Egypt for long. She might have liked to stay longer, but her family was eager for her return as well.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco was quite content to move into the Estate, declaring that it was a large enough house that he was just as likely to run into Daphne for a verbal sparring match within it than outside of it. Daphne and her father had agreed that informing Draco about their more nefarious activities was not advisable just yet, to her severe disappointment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne, for her part, has continued to be an irritant about the entire relationship.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He convinced you to throw a party, did he? Tell me, was inviting Granger his idea?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>my</span>
  </em>
  <span> idea. We had tea the other day, and I invited her. She’s something of a friend now, Daph.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A scoff, then. “Oh, Tori. You’re such a pretty fool, but a fool nonetheless.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stop that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bah. No crying allowed, my dear, when you walk in on your shiny new husband fucking your ‘something of a friend’ in your own bed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Absolute rubbish.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> convinced her to host an Equinox party at the Estate, to be sure, but she might have suggested the idea anyway. And - he </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>inquired with a curled lip if she had been planning on inviting Hermione.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Would you rather I didn’t?” she had asked, hoping for - something, unclear as to what, however.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t mind either way. Invite her if you like. She’s as much fun at a party as a blast-ended skrewt, but she’s your friend, isn’t she?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She is my friend, and you should be nicer to her you know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m plenty nice,” he had winked roguishly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So - you do want me to invite her then.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A pause, and a smile. “Only because it would make you happy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right…” she had agreed with a frown. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had tilted his head curiously at her then. “What’s the matter, love?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She had shaken her head, fighting off tears and deeply frustrated at Daphne for putting ridiculous ideas in her head. “Draco, sometimes - you’ll think this is absurd, but sometimes I think that she - well, I think she might have some sort of feelings for you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His laugh had been harsh, and his eyes had turned cold. “Awful feelings, perhaps. She hates me, Astoria, and she always has. You know that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She held back a sob. “You might not see it, but it’s the way she’s always </span>
  <em>
    <span>looking</span>
  </em>
  <span> at you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come now,” he said soothingly, taking her in his arms for a gentle embrace. “She’s obviously staring at me because I’m distractingly good-looking. You should definitely invite her, then. I imagine when she sees how happily married we are, it’ll surely kill her horrid passion for me, eh?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His dark smile hadn’t exactly been entirely comforting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She had hesitated and as she stared at him, his eyes softened into the gentleness she had gotten accustomed to over the course of their reunion. “It’s just...well, Daphne said-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Daphne!” he laughed, stepping closer to pull her into a soft embrace. “You know she probably hates me more than Granger does, right? I hate to break it to you, love, but you’re the only one who actually likes me around here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He leaned in to kiss her softly, and she smiled against his lips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The party is as elegant as any, featuring a Who’s Who of Cairo’s wizarding elite all dressed to the nines. Ashraf Bata of the Egyptian Magical Games Department is present, as is Greta Blackjack, a famed cursebreaker in town on a three-year assignment from Gringotts. Nearly half of the Egyptian National Quidditch Team is putting in an appearance as well.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Draco compliments her efforts on the autumnal decor of the ballroom, her heart flutters desperately.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>married</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>loves her. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She </span>
  <em>
    <span>trusts him.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Daphne’s smirking face can sod off.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They make small talk with Ashraf for a time, drinking wine and toasting the most recent victory of the Egyptian quidditch team over Ireland and having a lovely time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Upon noticing Hermione across the room - elegant and regal, standing aloof from the rest of the partiers as she sips on a glass of wine - Astoria somewhat gracelessly wraps her arm through Draco’s, and her heart thuds faintly in her chest. She is expecting - something, but she is not sure what.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Look, there’s Hermione over there,” she observes to Draco, trying her best to sound casual. “She always seems to be off by herself at these sort of events, doesn’t she?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco glances over and shrugs nonchalantly. “I wouldn’t know. Planning on abandoning me for her, are you? And so soon after our wedding!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She smiles lightly as she playfully slaps at his arm, fighting against that odd feeling in the pit of her stomach. “Well, I have to keep you on your toes, don’t I?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He smiles and squeezes her arm lightly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I was actually thinking of sending Danny Kershaw over to talk to her,” she continues, watching Draco’s face closely.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Kershaw!” he laughs harshly, eyes flashing. “Why is that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I - well he’s a nice enough fellow, isn’t he? And handsome too. They have similar interests, don’t they? I thought I might set them up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His jaw clenches for the briefest moment before he forces a strained grimace. “I don’t know about that. I don’t really see the two of them, ah, meshing well.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She feels a little cold and withdraws her arm from his. “You don’t?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He is staring across the room at her. They are </span>
  <em>
    <span>married,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and he is still staring.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After a moment he seems to catch himself and turns back to her with a smile. “What I mean to say is, I like Danny well enough. He’s a decent bloke. He doesn’t deserve to have to put up with that harpy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Draco-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know, I know,” he sighs dramatically. “She’s your friend, and I promised I’d be nicer. Well, come on then. Shall we go flaunt our happy marriage in front of her?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hates how desperately she wants to do just that, but she wraps her arm around him again and leads the way.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As they approach, Hermione quickly finishes her glass of wine and takes another from a passing tray. She smiles in her coldly polite way as the happy couple approaches, eyes darting back and forth between the two of them for a moment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They exchange a few words of greeting and compliments about the party, and Astoria tightens her grip on Draco.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Drinking all of our good wine, are you Granger?” Draco sneers pointedly, to which Astoria blushes and Hermione narrows her eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We have plenty more in the cellar,” Astoria chides him, and she thinks something of </span>
  <em>
    <span>a look</span>
  </em>
  <span> passes between the two of them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They make stilted small talk for a few moments and she wishes Draco would hold her closer, or lean over and kiss her, or do </span>
  <em>
    <span>something.</span>
  </em>
  <span> His eyes do light up for a moment, but not for her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Love, look over there - it’s our dear friend Danny. Shall we invite him over?” he grins cheekily.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She blushes, once again, not having expected him to bring up her little stratagem so directly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione raises an eyebrow and glances over at Danny curiously.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ll remember Danny, of course,” Astoria finds herself mumbling. “I thought - well, since you have some archaeological interests in common, I was thinking-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My dearest wife seems to think that you and Mr. Kershaw might hit it off </span>
  <em>
    <span>romantically,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Draco interrupts with a sneering grin. She hates when he sneers like that, and absently notes that he sneers at everyone except herself. She almost has to wonder what is so special about herself to spare her his wrath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Does she?” Hermione replies blandly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I told her I didn’t think so.” Draco sounds arrogant, somewhat, she thinks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione stares at Draco for a long moment. She could swear she sees a flicker of </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span> in Hermione Granger’s otherwise emotionless face. “Why is that, Malfoy?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The way she says her name, dragging over each syllable with a quiet, almost unnoticeable venom to her voice-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It was just a passing fancy of a thought,” Astoria interrupts before Draco can reply, likely with something rude. “I just thought you might like to get to know one another, that’s all.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione seems to hesitate, and her eyes flit briefly over to Draco before returning to meet her own. “I might like that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco shifts next to her and raises an eyebrow. “Might you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione holds his gaze challengingly. “I might.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something curdles in her belly, and before she can quickly change the subject far, far, far away from potential romantic partners, the family’s elderly, apathetic house-elf, Jalby, approaches her quietly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Miss, you is asking me to notifies you when Lady Ouaphres arrives.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She curses her past self for her meddling, not very much inclined to play the good hostess and go talk to Lady Ouaphres about charity donations while leaving Draco and Hermione alone to stare at each other some more.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But she </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> a good hostess, so she politely takes her leave. Draco does not offer to leave with her and she feels desperately cold.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Following the bored looking Jalby on her way to Lady Ouaphres, she takes a quick detour to greet Danny Kershaw and encourage him to go have a chat with Hermione (“She’s just over there - um, still, standing with Draco”).</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She feels a certain amount of confidence when she looks over again a few minutes later and Hermione is engaged in what looks to be polite conversation with Danny, and Draco has left her company. She glances around the room for him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He is on the other side of the room, ostensibly talking to Ashraf Bata and-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Watching Hermione.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She periodically looks for them both throughout the course of the evening, and finds that a glass of wine does little to calm her nerves.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She sees Hermione and Danny smile at each other.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She sees Draco clench his jaw.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She sees Daphne’s smirking face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She greets more party guests and has another glass of wine.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She goes to listen to the music with Lady Ouaphres.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She sees Danny standing with one of the Egyptian quidditch players nearby and Hermione nowhere in sight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She doesn’t see Hermione anywhere.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She doesn’t see Draco anywhere.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She sees Daphne’s sneering face in her mind, chirping. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No crying allowed when you walk in on your shiny new husband fucking your ‘something of a friend’ in your own bed.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’s is going to be out of wine soon, Miss,” Jalby informs her with an inclined tilt of his head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She turns to him sharply and lets out a sharp exhale. She is being ridiculous, surely. “Very good, thank you Jalby. Let’s go to the cellar then - excuse me, Lady Ouaphres.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As she descends to the cellar with Jalby to fetch additional bottles of wine, she sees something down the hall in her periphery-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It - couldn’t be.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Across the hallway, through the tall glass doors leading to the garden, she sees two silhouettes wrapped in an embrace, lips touching. It’s dark, and she can’t quite make out who they are, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>she knows them.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Actually Jalby,” her voice wavers. “I think they still need you upstairs. Let’s come back in a little while, shall we?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jalby eyes the entwined couple expressionlessly and nods. “Of course, Miss.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her legs feel heavy as she walks towards what feels like the gallows of the garden, past the door leading to the wine cellar. Her heart drums in her chest and she wants to cry, and she wants to turn back and run upstairs and hide in her room and never learn who these sodding people are.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The click of her heels as she makes her way through the hallway seem as loud as a thunderstorm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She creeps closer and closer, and with every step her heart feels as though it is becoming more and more frozen, as cold as Hermione Granger’s eyes, before suddenly shattering into thousands of tiny, icy shards.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco and Hermione are wrapped in a tight embrace, kissing each other fiercely, and her stomach drops when she remembers how sweetly Draco had held her just that very morning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She watches them silently for a moment as they pull away from each other.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They both look </span>
  <em>
    <span>violent,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and she absently notes that it is the most emotion she has ever seen from Hermione, and the way her eyes are sparked makes her look strikingly beautiful. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Of course</span>
  </em>
  <span> Draco would find her irresistible.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tears spring, hot and stinging to her eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione’s mouth moves, whispering angry words, and in a sudden movement, Draco puts his hands on her shoulders and shoves her away, and Astoria feels- </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something. Hope, maybe?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After steadying herself, Hermione looks up and meets her eyes, looking quite devastated.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Feeling more like an intruder in her own home than a wronged party, Astoria forces her feet to move, one step at a time, before walking through the doorway to the garden.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m - sorry to intrude on a private moment,” she nearly whispers, voice wavering girlishly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco’s jaw clenches as he glares violently at Hermione. “She’s been drinking. Go home, Granger,” he growls tersely.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She thinks that Hermione doesn’t look inebriated. She looks heartbroken, somehow, just for a moment before wrenching her face back into indifference.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Drunk, is she?” Astoria asks Draco wretchedly, stifling her tears as best she can. “She brought you out here at wand point, did she?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She threatened to cause a scene upstairs if I didn’t come along,” Draco replies, not looking at either woman.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hermione…” she trails off listlessly. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I wanted to be friends, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she wants to say. </span>
  <em>
    <span>How could you, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she wants to say. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m such a fool, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she wants to say.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m - sorry,” Hermione says quietly, face frozen but voice breaking. “Your husband is right, I - I’ve had too much to drink tonight, I’m afraid. It’s not his fault. I’ll go, now. I’m - truly sorry, Astoria.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Get out of here, Granger,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Draco snarls, and the look on his face is something broken.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione takes a deep breath, or more of a gasp, before nodding and departing in haste.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco stares after her, eyes burning brightly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Draco,” she whispers after a heavy moment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He turns back to her and his face immediately becomes less furious, breaking into a gentleness that almost hurts, and she wonders what it must be like to be on the receiving end of the amount of emotion he had directed towards Hermione. His eyes are no longer burning, but are rather soft and sad.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His voice is stilted when he starts to speak. “Astoria - I’m sorry. I really am. I - well, you were right about her having some - feelings, I suppose.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You kissed her,” she observes, feeling sluggish and dumb and aching. Her hands tremor slightly at her side.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t want to,” he insists, and she is sure he is lying, because Daphne was right wasn’t she? He was mad for Hermione as far back as Hogwarts, wasn’t he, that’s what Daphne said. And she had been staring at him with a fire in her eyes - of </span>
  <em>
    <span>course</span>
  </em>
  <span> he wanted to kiss her and oh, she feels like such a fool!</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her hands shake again, and he reaches forward gently, gazing at her with gentle, sad eyes, and she finds herself less jealous of the kiss and more jealous of the fact that Hermione had aroused such intense emotions from him as compared with the non-volatile, steady sweetness of the way he interacts with her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She leans against him heavily and he wraps her in his arms tightly, whispering sweet apologies into her ear.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We should go back to the party,” she answers noncommittally, shaking somewhat in his grasp. “I’m sure we’re missed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sighs, but nods, leaning in to kiss her once more, and she nearly sobs thinking that his lips taste like </span>
  <em>
    <span>her.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shakes her head in an attempt to clear the storm of emotions in her brain and casts a quick charm to fix her makeup, smudged by her own tears. The rest of the party is nearly uneventful, aside from avoiding the mean-spiritedly curious gaze of her sister. She walks around the room in a daze. She watches Draco in conversation with Greta Blackjack, as polite and charming as he can be.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She thinks he might as well be wearing a mask.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Miss, the wine?” Jalby reminds her squeakily after a time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right,” she mumbles distractedly, leading him back to the cellar with a shake of her head, trying to will away the images dancing in her mind. As she reaches into her clutch for her keychain, she thinks that Draco hadn’t exactly looked like an entirely unwilling participant in the kiss, but-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her cellar key is missing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She stares at her chain with a frown. There are numerous keys, of course, but as she shuffles through them again-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her cellar key is missing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her heart skips a beat before making its presence known with a thundering explosion in her chest, and she struggles to take a shuddering breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her cellar key is missing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Had someone been to the cellar? Who-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Two bodies, lips touching, just down the hall from the cellar door-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Miss Astoria?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her cellar key is missing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We - ah, still have firewhiskey upstairs, don’t we, Jalby? And champagne, I believe. Let’s serve that until we run out. Our guests have had more than enough wine, I expect,” she improvises, trying her best to keep her voice steady. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She is on edge as the party winds down and wonders what to do.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Surely she should tell Daphne, but- </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No, not yet. She has to find out what’s going on first. Perhaps the key is - under a table in her room or - somewhere.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She is distracted when Draco comes to bed apologetically. He smiles lightly, and it is as if she is looking at him for the first time as a dark, horrible idea begins to form in her mind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What if-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His kindness, his gentleness, his sweet smiles and kisses, what if it was all an act, just for her? The </span>
  <em>
    <span>real</span>
  </em>
  <span> Draco is the one who she remembers from school. The one who shares sneers with Daphne all the time. The one who picks nasty little fights with Hermione Granger before snogging her senseless. The emotional one, </span>
  <em>
    <span>the mean one.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But why? Why would he lie his way into a marriage with her?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The only answer that comes to mind makes her heart ache so deeply that she tries to shove the thought away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She drops her clutch heavily onto her dresser and sees his eyes flicker over watchfully.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His smile is sweet and his eyes are earnest, and she lets him make love to her and whisper sweet apologies, but she wants to cry, and she wonders if he’d rather be making love to Hermione, but she knows that they’d more likely </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> than make love, and there would be nothing sweet about it. There would be violence and insults and hair pulling and biting and scratching and soul-searing kisses and she sobs internally and she wishes she could turn her mind off and just go to sleep-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She opens her eyes early in the morning and isn’t entirely sure she slept at all. He - maybe he had stayed asleep and hadn’t moved all night. Maybe he hadn’t snuck over to her dresser, opened her clutch, and replaced the key he had stolen back on its chain. He is sleeping soundly, a mild scowl on his sleeping features, and she gazes at him intently.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He probably, hopefully had simply stayed asleep, all night, and nothing new will be out of place.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She slips out of bed quietly and moves to the dresser to investigate the contents of her clutch. Surely, </span>
  <em>
    <span>surely</span>
  </em>
  <span> she will see the same number of keys on her keychain as the evening before, still missing the cellar key, and there was some other explanation for-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The shining, silver key to the cellar is there, affixed in its proper spot on her chain and thrumming heavily in her palm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her stomach drops as she stares at it in a dawning horror. Snatching the chain quietly, she rushes down the stairs, images of Draco and Hermione with their lips affixed to each other just down the hall from the cellar burning in her mind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Had it been simply a drunken indiscretion? A passionate embrace between lovers? Or something far worse - a distraction?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With every step she takes, she reminds herself that the wards on the cellar are powerful - similar to a Gringotts vault, her father had said. And yet, a nagging, childish memory of being highly impressed by her childhood hero, Agatha Vixen the Magiarchaeologist, for cracking through old wards as though it was a first year exam lingers in her mind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She quickly mumbles the various spells to deactivate the complex layers of protective spells before nearly shoving her key into the lock and bursting through the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Everything looks - normal, doesn’t it? She glances around quickly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She peers closely at the wine rack. She tries to remember the exact layout the last time she was in the cellar, but she thinks maybe one of the 1997 Elderwine bottles is out of place somewhat. The cork looks - different, doesn’t it? She stares at the bottle, briefly wondering if her suddenly paranoid mind is playing tricks on her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She glances over at the awful, glowing runeknife on the nearby cabinet - has it been moved?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peering even closer, there are a few flecks of a vibrant vermillion powder on the ground, hardly noticeable.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her stomach curls itself into a thick, heavy knot.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her legs feel full of lead as she trudges down the hallway and up the stairs to Daphne’s room, and her stomach aches and her heart </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurts.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re awake early,” Daphne, still laying in bed, greets her dubiously. There is a bit of a glint in her eyes, and her voice is practically singing a song. “Something wrong?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” she whispers quietly, coming to sit on the bed by her sister’s prone body. She can feel the stinging of tears making their way to her eyes. “It’s - Draco.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne’s eyes glimmer maliciously and something sinister smiles it’s way onto her face. “Oh, Astoria. I’ve long expected this. I warned you, didn’t I? He’s fucking Granger, isn’t he?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s worse than that,” she replies, voice hardly higher than a whisper.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne frowns questioningly at her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think-” her voice breaks. “They’re going to kill me. Sebek-ari, Violet - they’re going to kill me. Oh Daphne, I think I’ve married a Ministry spy.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Draco 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Draco Malfoy’s eyes are bleary, and he wonders whether his near desperate need to urinate is of a higher priority than his near desperate desire to fall back asleep. His head aches in the familiarly deep manner, and he may yet adjust his priority list in order to move the need to vomit up the remainder of his stomach bile to a slot above both urination and slumbering.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His head wearily lolls to the side on its own accord, and he is grateful to note that although he is naked, he is at least naked in a familiar bed in an equally familiar room. Not as ideal as waking up naked in a pretty stranger’s bed, though far better than waking up naked in a strange Parisian alleyway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Every muscle in his body absolutely </span>
  <em>
    <span>aches,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and when he tries to sit up a foul smelling hiccough makes its way up his throat. He notices with some surprise that there is a sobriety potion on his nightstand, and he is in the middle of thanking Drunk Draco from the previous evening when an intruding voice captures his attention.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’d better drink up, Malfoy. We have things to discuss.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He blinks and stares at his doorway in some amount of confusion. He blinks again, more heavily, sure that it is a mirage, or a trick, or foul magic of some sort, because why else would Hermione Granger be leaning against his doorframe with her arms crossed like a schoolmarm and her eyebrow raised in an incredibly judgemental manner?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He blinks a third time to be sure, but somehow she is still present, so he concludes that Hermione Granger must indeed be physically present in his Paris flat. He gazes at her, raking his eyes slowly up her body and not bothering to be subtle. He is quite naked after all, while she has the advantage of not only being fully clothed, but the additional advantage of somehow managing to not look particularly impressed with his clothless body.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He studies her as he casually reaches to his nightstand for the sobriety potion - which, more than likely, had been provided by her. He hasn’t seen her for - well, he isn’t quite sure how long. Years. She had testified on his behalf at his trial after the Battle of Hogwarts, though not particularly enthusiastically. He hardly even remembers what she said about him and his parents, though he does recall her specifically </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> mentioning the bit about how the three of them had practically stood around having tea and crumpets while his dear Auntie Bellatrix had tortured her on the drawing room floor of Malfoy Manor. That was nice enough of her, he supposes. Probably nicer than he had deserved, at any rate.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He vaguely recalls having seen her at some event or another at Place Cachée a number of years ago and intending to - thank her for the testimony, perhaps? or apologize for the whole thing about how he had stared at his shoes and tried not to cry while she got tortured and screamed until her lungs gave out? - though ultimately getting distracted and not having any interaction significant enough to merit remembering, let alone for it to make sense that she should be in his flat while he is in his current state of nakedness.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looks - </span>
  <em>
    <span>cold.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He remembers thinking some time ago that she had grown up quite nicely from an awkward, gangly little girl into a rather pretty young woman, if far too arrogant to allow him to acknowledge the fact aloud and let it puff her up even further. It had been relegated to the depths of his thoughts, and until this very moment it was sure to have stayed there forever. She has lost the softness of her youth, and it looks like she has been carved from stone. All angles, her cheekbones are jutting out sharply and her eyes are hard, emotionless. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Cold.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Her hair, once wildly untameable, is still absurdly curly but pulled back into a tight braid falling down her back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He thinks she has evolved from a pretty young woman to a devastatingly beautiful creature, and he metaphorically claps himself on the back for having seduced her the previous evening.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then again- </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t exactly remember the previous evening. It doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span> like he participated in any sort of carnal activities, rather feeling more like he got punched in the face and kicked in the ribs. A glance at his shirtless torso confirms that there was a beating of some sort, complete with a nasty looking bruise on his left side.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looks back at Granger with a frown. “I have a question first,” he starts, and his voice is raspy and it’s a bit painful to talk. “Did we shag last night, or did you beat the living hell out of me? And if both, then in what order? That’s incredibly important to me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Neither,” she replies. Her voice is as cold as her face, and he wonders what she has been up to for the last however many years. And also what in Merlin’s name she is doing in his flat after a night he can’t remember. “You don’t recall, really? Despite your most valiant attempts to seduce me, we did not shag last night. The muggle husband of some brunette from the bar is responsible for your current state.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh, right. The brunette. He vaguely recalls something about that, though he could’ve sworn she’d been a blond. “He’s responsible for stripping me naked and procuring a sobriety potion, then?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No. He beat you up rather easily, and might’ve killed you if not for my intervention. You’re awful at fist-fighting, Malfoy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hm,” he acknowledges with a painful shrug as he tosses back the draft. Disgusting tasting, really, but no worse than his horrid morning breath. In any case, it clears his head a bit. “And you’d do better, would you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, most definitely.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He rolls his eyes and the room spins a bit with him. “Arrogant as ever, Granger. You should be pleased, really, that I don’t make it a habit of hexing random muggles. So - you saved my life, then I did a decent enough job of wooing you that you decided to come home with me? Wanted to take care of me, did you? That’s shockingly sweet of you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No. I saved your life, and you could hardly form a coherent sentence on account of being excessively drunk. I found your identification and located your apartment. I decided to stay - on your couch, mind you - because I was not confident you’d live through the night on your own. Seemed a waste of time to go through the trouble of saving your life, only to have you choke on your own vomit and die.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He leans heavily into the bed with a sigh. “Well reasoned, I suppose. And - why am I naked?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She quirks an eyebrow at him. “After you promised me the most incredible night of my life, you vomited on my shoes, took your clothes off and fell on the ground. I levitated you onto the bed. You’re welcome.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks,” he grumbles, annoyed at Drunk Draco for being a bit of a lightweight tosser. “Though I’m not sure how I can believe you. How do I know you didn’t just vanish my clothes away to take a peek at my bits? Naughty of you, Granger.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She sighs and gestures towards the crumpled pile of his clothes in the middle of the room behind her which indeed look as though he had collapsed upon them partway through undressing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah. Right. Well then, do tell me why you were stalking me across muggle Paris if only to remain thoroughly unseduced?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“As I said earlier, Malfoy, we have things to discuss.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Certainly. But more importantly, I have to piss.” He rolls out of bed and, realizing that there is no chance of maintaining his dignity at this point, gracelessly stumbles to the lavatory and relieves himself with the utmost urgency. A glance in the mirror informs him that his previous assessment was accurate - there is a heavy black and blue mark surrounding his left eye, and a dreary tired looking smudge under his right. There are a few minor scratches along his cheek as well, which he presumes are from getting his face dragged along a sidewalk, possibly. He presses his fingers into the ugly bruise on his chest, and hisses as a sharp pain runs through his body.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He smiles tiredly at himself in the mirror as he splashes a bit of cold water on his face and tries to recall how he happened upon Granger. Had they talked much? Had he bought her a drink? Or had she simply decided to play the Good Samaritan and interfered during a good old-fashioned (and, frankly, probably well-deserved) beating?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Knowing his brain has no accessible answers to these questions, he heads back into his bedroom with a heavy sigh. Granger is still leaning against his doorway looking stoic.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Going to dress yourself?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shrugs, straightening and jutting his hips out a bit. “If you like the view, I’m happy to remain unclothed as long as you like.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She blinks at him coldly, sparing only the briefest, unimpressed glance at his proudly displayed manhood. “It doesn’t bother me either way, as long as you don’t complain about it being cold in here. As I said, I have a proposition for you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not the kind of proposition that involves you also getting naked, I presume?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her face is impassive, and he decides at that moment that he is absolutely going to seduce her, if only for the challenge of it. Sure, she’s beautiful, but there are other potential perks. It would certainly scratch a decade-old itch of his. With how committed she is to appearing emotionless, it might be a fun diversion to try and get her to make an actual expression with her cold eyes and steel-cut features. It almost looks as though she is occluding, as the severe coldness is almost unnatural.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well that’s too bad. Your sweater is quite atrocious, though I imagine it would look better on my floor.” He reaches up and stretches, very aware that he has received numerous compliments over the years about the state of his abdominals. Women </span>
  <em>
    <span>swoon,</span>
  </em>
  <span> from his experience.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Granger’s eyes flicker downwards briefly before returning to his face, cold and dark, much to his immense disappointment. If already being naked and having excellent abdominals isn’t enough to do the trick, he’ll have to come up with some other ideas.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s a job offer, Malfoy. The Ministry is looking for someone to infiltrate a group of cultists. They identified you as a potential candidate for the job.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Because I’m so pretty?” he grins at her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His face falls and he redoubles his commitment to seduce her, if only to knock her down a leg or two.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Because you’ve got connections, and - notoriety.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sighs heavily. “Oh, Granger. Woo me harder, if you please. Why should I abandon my debaucherous bachelor lifestyle in order to help the Ministry which was happy enough to throw me and my family to the wolves? The newlyweds of Paris will be devastated should I depart, let me assure you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shall I blackmail you then? Else, there’s always bribery. Which would you prefer?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He tentatively withdraws his commitment to seduce her for a moment and peers at her closely. She doesn’t seem to be showing any sort of second guessing. He might’ve sworn that she always was and always would be fairly holier-than-thou, but casually threatening a bit of blackmail doesn’t seem to align. He tries to remember what happened to her after it all. He, of course, had been banished from England and threw himself into a committed relationship with booze, drugs, and meaningless sex. She, of course, had - well, clearly started working with the Ministry at some point. He thinks he recalls her and Weasley dating for a time, until the fellow kicked the bucket on some auror mishap or another. That was years ago, though.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bribery, to be sure, unless I can convince you to just go away and leave me alone?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re not allowed in England at the moment. That arrangement can be altered.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Never cared for England, really. Paris agrees with my complexion, you know. What else do you have to bribe me with?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your parents are unwelcome in the country as well. Think they might appreciate the opportunity to return to Malfoy Manor?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sighs heavily, thinking of his mother and how dearly she misses the Manor grounds, and English society in general. Returning to his ancestral home might do his somewhat sickly father some good as well. “That is some decent bribery, Granger,” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, it is,” she agrees smoothly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He grins at her. “How about this - I’ll take the job if you unbanish my family </span>
  <em>
    <span>and </span>
  </em>
  <span>you take me out for a drink. What do you say?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes to the unbanishing, no to the drink. You can take the day to think about it, if you like.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bah, you’re no fun. No need, I’ll do it. What’s ‘it’? And where’s ‘it’? And how naked do I need to be for it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The briefest twitch of her lips flickers across her face, only for an instant, and he worries for a moment that the worst has happened and somehow, despite his best attempt to be naked and have muscles and seduce her, somehow she has managed to turn the tables and nearly secure his complete attention with just the barest hint of a smile.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Draco 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The job, it seems, is contingent upon his somewhat sobering up. Granger is quite insistent on that point.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t want me going to the pubs and picking up women, eh Granger? It’s alright, I understand - you want to keep me all to yourself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His shameless flirting gets nary the whisper of a smile, though it does get him an interesting new living arrangement. After a meeting with her Ministry liaison Roger Davies - he vaguely remembers the dolt from quidditch matches at Hogwarts - and the signing of some magically binding contracts, they agree that he should withdraw from society for a bit. They’ll temporarily stuff him in a safehouse to receive some training at spycraft before allowing him to emerge as a new man, sending him off to Cairo to sneak his way into being recruited by some magical cult. He is a bit too hungover to care about the details, and is sure Granger will explain it to him in far too much detail later on.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She is to be his trainer and handler, which, despite the sting she has delivered to his pride, his cock seems happy enough about. It twitches about happily in her presence, imagining all sorts of fun it wants to have with her. She, however, hardly looks pleased at the prospect, so he recommits once again to his commitment to seduce her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The safehouse is something of a prison-cottage on the outskirts of Tours, far from the temptations of Paris life. It is not connected to a Floo network, and there are anti-apparition spells in place. The only forms of transportation to town are either a tragically long walk, or doing that odd muggle thing they call ‘driving’ in their ‘cars’. He is quite pleased that the difficulty of travel means that Granger will likely be spending the night, more often than not.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The first day at the cottage consists of more boring paperwork, which he attempts to make marginally more interesting by inserting innuendos wherever he can (“I’m to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>under you</span>
  </em>
  <span> until my </span>
  <em>
    <span>services</span>
  </em>
  <span> are rendered, eh Granger?”) and shamelessly inviting her to read the documents aloud to him, but only if she sits a little closer (“May as well just have a seat on my lap, Granger, I promise to pay </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> close attention if you do”). It’s all very childish, and she ignores him for the most part - though he does get one annoyed eye-roll out of her, which he is quite proud of.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His polite offer to accompany her to bed that evening receives a blank stare and a heavily shut door in his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The second day consists of Granger fruitlessly attempting to educate him on the wizarding political situation in Egypt, which he happily ignores, pointing out that if they need him to infiltrate some group or another, anyone who knows him will be quite surprised if he knows anything of politics. She huffs at him for that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>First an eye-roll, and now a huff! He grins, thinking that </span>
  <em>
    <span>some</span>
  </em>
  <span> sort of response is better than the blank nothingness she tries to project. He will endeavor to continue to annoy her, though he thinks that she is secretly amused by his little asides.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>On the third day, she is gone when he wakes up and he isn’t quite sure what to do with himself. He explores the cottage a bit - without his shirt on, of course, just in case she returns and needs a little reminder about what his abdominals look like - but it doesn’t take very long. The cottage is fairly small, consisting of his bedroom, hers, a living room, a kitchen, and a larger room in the back housing exercise equipment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He snoops through her room, but doesn’t find anything interesting. Her drawers and cabinets are all spelled with protections - as if he would </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually </span>
  </em>
  <span>have opened them! - but she has several books on her end table, neatly stacked, probably in some batty sort of order. They all seem to be about Egypt - modern culture, ancient mythology, magical beasts, and so forth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He takes the ancient mythology book from the pile and dives onto her bed with a smirk, sure that he’ll be able to think of several witty bed-related comments upon her return, before flipping through the book. It seems like an interesting enough way to pass the time. There are chapters on ancient gods, underworld demons, and a compilation of sphinx riddles. Granger, to no surprise, is quite the note-taker, with margins full of them, and plenty of pages dog-eared to boot. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A devious plan comes to mind, and he summons a quill and some ink.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Granger returns a few hours later - he knows this, on account of hearing that automobile thing that she uses make that awful noise upon making its way up the road.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he hears the front door open, he clenches his abdominals in anticipation once again of impressing her. He is honestly not sure how she has managed to so thoroughly resist his advances for two whole days, not to mention the night they met in Paris.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Must be occlumency, he is nearly sure of it. She’s not particularly good at it - good enough to get by, perhaps, but not enough to fool anyone with any familiarity with the skill. He files that bit of information away, planning on mentioning to her at some point when she needs a bit of deflating. The little eye rolls and huffs sneak out of her a bit too easily. It’s a rare sort of magic, occlumency - one which he had become somewhat proficient at back when his family played host to the Dark Lord and he had to regularly watch people get eaten by snakes. With little need to practice since then outside of trying to wrangle his nightmares about said snakes, his skills have degraded somewhat, though he can still typically tell when another wizard is attempting to guard their thoughts.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He allows himself a grin, thinking that occlumency is </span>
  <em>
    <span>exhausting,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and he must be having some sort of effect on her if she is bothering to go through the effort in the first place. He is convinced that she only has a finite amount of willpower, and he will put it to the limits, enthusiastic to see what sort of crazy mess she is hiding behind her defensive walls.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hears her stomping around the cottage, presumably searching for him but too stubborn to call out, and when she finally enters her own bedroom he very studiously ignores her, focusing on not only clenching his muscles but also on the notes he is adding to her annotations, as the book ended up being quite interesting after all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She stands there silently for a few moments, and he is somewhat surprised that she hasn’t exploded in a righteous fury, so he risks a glance at her. She looks-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, she certainly doesn’t look </span>
  <em>
    <span>cold</span>
  </em>
  <span> as she stares at him. Her eyebrow is arched as though she </span>
  <em>
    <span>wants</span>
  </em>
  <span> to yell at him, but her eyes are focused on him, lips parted slightly, and he smirks deviously</span>
  <em>
    <span>. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Adding books to the equation was the key. She is clearly attracted to him and his trusty abdominals, and a handsome, muscled bloke annotating a book is likely part of her most lurid sexual fantasies.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Or, she is furious at him for rumpling her bed sheets and moving her books around and she is preparing to chew him out most enthusiastically.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Probably lust though. Possibly. Hopefully.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Granger,” he drawls, taking his time on the first ‘r’ in her name and slowly looking her over with his eyes. He gestures to her book with his quill. “Let me say, if this whole adventure ends with me getting sacrificed to Osiris as part of some magic ritual, I’ll be fairly put out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She seems to recover from her (possibly lusty) reverie. “Studying up, are you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I am. Want to come over here and teach me more?” he grins, patting the bed lightly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She almost smiles before seemingly catching herself and tightening her expression again. “No. New house rule, Malfoy - you are not allowed to be in my bed. Is that clear?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not even if you invite me?” he grins cheekily.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let me amend that - you are not permitted to be in my bedroom at all.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But I was </span>
  <em>
    <span>bored,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> he sighs dramatically, setting the book back on her nightstand and standing up. He tries his usual move of lifting his arms up and stretching, though he notes that she is set back in her ways and refusing to gaze upon him. “Where’d you go, anyway? Was it a breakfast date? I hope you’re not cheating on me, Granger, whilst I lay here absolutely pining for you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her eyes flutter in a half-rolling sort of motion, and he counts that as yet another reaction from her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I had a meeting at Beauxbatons. Their History of Magic department is looking to contract me to do some work in Egypt, conveniently enough. It will act as a useful cover story, at any rate.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He grins at her. “Seemed like an awful long meeting - I bet you were off having a shag!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her jaw clenches. “You’re absurd.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That wasn’t exactly a denial. Are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>sure</span>
  </em>
  <span> you weren’t off having a shag?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Quite sure,” she replies curtly, stepping forward to adjust her books until they line up perfectly straight once again on the nightstand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well then,” he continues, shifting to sit on the edge of the bed to be closer to her. He puts on his best smoldering face. “Egypt will be a Ministry-funded couples retreat for us, won’t it? How lovely! Why does Beauxbatons want to hire the Ministry?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They don't want to hire the Ministry. They want to hire me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“As a consultant, Malfoy. The Ministry will hire me from time to time, as will the ICW, as will Beauxbatons, as will others.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah, so you're not actually an official Ministry employee, eh? What do you consult on?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Plenty of things.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What kinds of things?” He will annoy her into a conversation, he swears it to himself. He has been formulating a plan consisting of several steps:</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-Step 1: Exasperate her into having an actual conversation with him</span><br/>
<span>-Step 2: Impress her with his wit</span><br/>
<span>-Step 3: Continue to impress her with his muscles</span><br/>
<span>-Step 4: ...Do other as yet unidentified impressive things</span><br/>
<span>-Step 5: Seduced! Plan is complete!</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She sighs heavily before stepping forward and literally dragging him out of her room and shutting the door behind them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He glances down at her hand on his arm before flexing his bicep and smirking at her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her eyes widen and she pulls her hand away as if burned before he can come up with anything witty to say. “Don’t go in my room again, alright?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He raises his hands in the air innocently. “Hey, I’m just trying to make conversation, Granger. If we’re actually going to be spending this much time together, it wouldn’t kill you to have a chat, would it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She levels him with a stare for a moment that suggests it just might before her features almost soften, somewhat. “I’ll bring you some more mythology books if you’re actually curious. That one you were reading is rather basic.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I am very much actually curious,” he nods seriously, adding ‘impress her by being an academic’ to his plan. “But I do hope you’ll read my notes on your basic book. Will you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He is still expecting her to explode at him for writing in her book, and he expects she certainly will when she sees the crude drawing he left for her on page 74, but she doesn’t need to know about that yet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m looking forward to your inputs,” she replies levelly, eyes guarded once again, though clearly making a valiant attempt not to incinerate him where he stands. He decides to award himself a point every time he catches her using occlumency to mask some emotion or another. “Come on - let me explain more about the political situation. It’s important for you to know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is it? It’s so </span>
  <em>
    <span>boring</span>
  </em>
  <span> though. Sure you don’t want to do something more interesting?” He grins at her again, and she studiously ignores his second question.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...Context is important, yes. This is required training for all Ministry employees. Which, need I remind you, you now are. We left off yesterday on extradition agreements and coordination with the International Confederation guidelines on criminal investigations. Tomorrow, we’ll get into more details about the cult itself - they call themselves the Ignis Protectorate, so you have that to look forward to.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh yes, I do love a good scary cult name.” He sighs heavily, already bored, but makes a good natured attempt at paying attention. He finds that despite the topic, he would happily listen to her talk about nearly anything. She is focused, concise, and her eyes are deeply expressive - more so than in any conversation she has had with him - when she starts talking about something she likes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He is entirely confident that she is messing with him by talking about something so boring for so long, but he finds that he doesn’t mind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he realizes that she has been talking about international extradition regulations for two hours and he has passed the time happily watching her lips move, he once again thinks that despite the fact that she is just as much an annoying know-it-all as ever, he might be in some real danger of becoming smitten.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It doesn’t help that she smells quite nice. Spicy, like ginger and bergamot.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That evening, long after they quit studying, he finds the mythology book on the table. He flips it open and notices that she actually responded to all of his comments, and quite thoughtfully too. She shockingly hadn’t vanished his drawing on page 74, instead leaving a helpful anatomical note and a recommendation to see a healer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He smiles to himself before turning in for the evening.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>By the sixth day, they have settled into a bit of a routine. Now that he isn’t drinking as much, he finds that he wakes up earlier and with more enthusiasm than usual. She is still awake long before he is, but it helps sort out things like shower timing and tea-brewing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He thinks that he is struggling to maintain balance on quite a slippery slope. The harder he flirts with her and the more she continues to reject him, the more invested he is becoming with the concept of securing her interest. Despite her cold demeanor, she seems so tightly wound that she might be on the brink of imploding, and a devilish part of him would dearly love to be the cause of her meltdown.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He tries his most smoldering gazes, and she remains unseduced. He tries his handsomest smiles, and she remains unseduced. He even tries what he is sure is an absolutely adorable pouty face, and she remains unseduced. It’s almost as though she doesn’t believe he is actually trying to seduce her at all!</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Being boorishly straightforward seems to be similarly unsuccessful. One night, after waking up after an hour or two of fitful sleep on account of a strange nightmare about a giant snake chewing up a beautiful, bright red bird with a human face contorted in shrieking pain, he stumbles tiredly into the common room. When he sees her sitting there on the couch, reading with exhausted eyes, he grins, suddenly feeling wide awake and glad that he hadn’t worn a shirt to bed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He observes her quietly for a moment as she reads. She really does look rather exhausted. He vaguely wonders what keeps her awake in the dead of night, though he has a few upsetting guesses.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Walking over quietly, he announces his presence by loudly flopping onto the couch next to her and grinning widely. “Let me guess - can’t sleep because you’re thinking of me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Startled, she drops the parchment she had been glaring at into her lap and snaps her eyes to meet his. She looks unsettled, as though she is half a second away from apparating out of the room altogether. “Hardly.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stretches his arms up in the air, reveling in the fact that she is eyeing him as if sizing him up, clearly too exhausted for occlumency at the moment. He tightens his stomach for good measure.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know, they say physical activity is important when it comes to a successful night’s sleep. I’d be </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span> than happy to offer my services in wearing you out,” he leers, unsubtly ogling her chest and wishing she wasn’t always wearing those damned frumpy sweaters.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As if suddenly remembering herself (and himself), she crosses her arms and wills her expression into blankness before arising and walking straight back into her room without another word.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And on and on they go.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>”You’re handling all of this better than I expected you would,” she observes almost suspiciously after another long day of studying. Thankfully, they have moved on from current events to past events, diving deeper into the mythology which the cult he is expecting to infiltrate is obsessed with. He is learning more about the major players of the Ignis Protectorate - some older bloke named Sebek-ari, possibly a former Death Eater although he doesn’t recognize the name, seems to be in charge. His old Hogwarts mate Blaise Zabini seems to be involved as well. He and Granger theorize that it was a main factor in his recruitment, and that he might be expected to reconnect with the fellow. Daphne and Astoria’s old man has been identified as a business associate of Sebek-ari, and he pointedly declines to elaborate on the fact that he and Astoria had been something of an item for a time. She doesn’t comment on it either, though he assumes she is aware of it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s quite fun studying with her, actually, with a fair amount of sparring back and forth, and he briefly lets himself imagine a world in which they had been study partners back at Hogwarts instead of rivals of a sort.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“All of the rejections you’ve been handing me?” he asks teasingly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“All of - this,” she replies, gesturing vaguely around the room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Being trapped in a tiny little country cottage with a beautiful woman who is literally forced to keep me company? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Very</span>
  </em>
  <span> beautiful, actually. It’s a dream come true, really.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He can almost swear her cheeks color slightly before she rolls her eyes and he adds a point to his ‘things I’ve done to seduce Granger’ tracker. He thinks he is bound to stumble upon the magic number at some point, likely by accident.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you say, Granger? I’m sick of being cooped up in this place. Let’s go to the village and get dinner. I’ll even let you drive me in that muggle death trap of yours.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She regards him thoughtfully for a moment, and he is sure that she’ll agree to the idea. There aren’t any wizarding communities nearby, and the odds of some random wizard making his way to this rural village in the middle of nowhere are exceedingly remote. He has several witty remarks about their first date that he has been preparing since he first came up with the idea.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Very well, but you are not allowed to make any jokes about being on a date. Is that clear?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sighs dramatically and braces his hand over his heart.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The car, he learns, is something called a convertible. When the wind rushes over them, he closes his eyes for a moment and smiles, thinking it reminds him just a little bit of flying. When he opens his eyes and glances at her, she is watching him with the smallest of smiles tugging at her lips. Her curly hair is flowing in the wind, and he smiles back at her. She is wearing her usual brand of frumpy sweater, but he thinks she looks quite pretty there, driving her convertible down a country road and almost-smiling at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There is not much in the way of local dining, so they end up going to a small tavern. It’s not particularly crowded, for which he is grateful, although the peasants' food leaves something to be desired. Hardly an ideal spot for a first date, in any case, but he perseveres.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When the waiter comes by, he orders a whiskey for himself and sees her narrow her eyes at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just one, Granger, I promise,” he grins. “Relax a little bit, will you? Always so serious, you are. You’re allowed to have fun for one night a month, aren’t you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She ends up ordering a glass of wine for herself, though the extremely dubious look on her face remains firmly in place. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just one,” she reiterates. “You know Egypt has fairly strict alcohol regulations, don’t you? Besides, we start physical training tomorrow, so do keep that in mind.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Physical training, hmm?” He waggles his eyebrows shamelessly at her. “Of the naked variety?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She fully rolls her eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll assume clothed, then. Such a tragedy, considering those ugly sweaters you like to wear all the time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She scoffs at him. “I like my sweaters. You know that you ordered a plain old muggle whiskey, don’t you? There’s no firewhiskey here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shrugs and grins again. “Well, you can’t always get what you want.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She blinks at him for a moment before one corner of her lips twitches upwards into something like a smirk. “First you’re drinking muggle alcohol, now you’re quoting muggle music. The Rolling Stones. Will wonders never cease?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bah, I didn’t know it was muggle music. A wise old bartender told me that once. Bit of a hag, actually. She flat refused to make me a cocktail. Can you tell me about your Beauxbatons work?” he asks her, putting on his most charming smile. “Or is it top-secret?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She tilts her head at him before taking a slow sip of wine, and he thinks she looks ravishing. “She doesn’t sound like a very good bartender. And no, it’s not a secret, though I still have quite a lot of research to do. We’ve studied Ra, of course, as you’ll recall.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course,” he nods sagely, swirling the whiskey around its tumbler and inhaling it deeply. Oh, how he has missed drinking after going an entire week without. “Egyptian god of the sun. Awfully important fellow. Do I get any points for knowing the answer, Professor?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She ignores him and continues on. “One of my colleagues in the Ancient Runes Department at Beauxbatons published a paper regarding the Eye of Ra, a fairly powerful magical artifact according to legend. He proposed several theories as to its location and magical properties, though it is yet to be found. I - have some qualms with his theories. They’d like me to investigate the Tomb of Ra and see what I can find out, if anything.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He quirks an eyebrow at her and takes a delightful sip of whiskey. “Ahh, questing for magical artifacts. How fun. Why do they want </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>to do it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looks faintly surprised. “You don’t know, really?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shrugs. “You haven’t exactly been quick to volunteer information about yourself, Granger. You’ve spent most of the last week deeply engaged in lecturing me about the International Confederation of Wizard’s law enforcement rules and regulations. I assume they don’t need you to go lecture a mummy to death?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mummies are already dead.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bah, you know what I mean. Want to tell me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She glances down at the table, almost embarrassed. Another emotion! He congratulates himself on the achievement and watches as she cringingly takes a healthy sip of wine.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well - I’m a magiarchaeologist. It’s literally my job to go questing for magical artifacts, as you said. After Hogwarts I specialized in studying anthropology and world cultures. I’m well versed in ancient runes and scripts, and I can passably speak several languages. I’ve been contracted by governments, banks, researchers and the like to do this sort of work across the world. I - suppose I thought you knew that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He blinks at her in surprise, conjuring images of her trotting around the globe investigating old haunted tombs and navigating ancient labyrinths. “Impressive, Granger, very impressive! I suppose my mission will involve some dusty old artifact or another, and that’s why they assigned you to babysit me. I’ll have you know, when I was a lad one of my favorite book series was Agatha Vixen: Magiarchaeologist. I’m going to assume that it was an accurate portrayal of the occupation.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She lets out a laugh. A laugh! An actual laugh - he had thought it was impossible! He feels like something of a magiarchaeologist himself, on a quest to find Granger’s Emotions, and he has just stumbled upon a clue.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah, yes, Agatha Vixen. Raider of tombs, finder of relics, slayer of men’s hearts.” It is fairly dark in the room, but the candlelight plays on her face, and her lips are still lifted into a little smile. “It’s very nearly my biography.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And a joke too! He glances at her half-full glass of wine to make sure she hasn’t suddenly gotten herself drunk.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well you’ve yet to slay my heart, despite your best efforts.” He gives her his most dashing smile. “Agatha Vixen was my first crush, actually.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There is the slightest chance that she blushes, though it is difficult to tell in the darkness of the tavern. “Ah - yes, well, most of my work involves research rather than adventures like Ms. Vixen’s.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Most? Please tell me you have </span>
  <em>
    <span>some</span>
  </em>
  <span> adventures though. You don’t work alone, do you? I’m sure you’ve left more than one shattered heart behind you on the quest for relics.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hesitates and quickly finishes off her glass of wine, and his grin widens.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You have, haven’t you, vixen indeed!” He tries to remember how many years it has been since Weasley kicked it, and then tries to smother that odd jealous feeling of whatever man has managed to earn time in her bed since then. “Not Davies, I hope? He was gazing after you somewhat lustily the other day, I daresay.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The waiter arrives before she can respond and gestures to his own empty tumbler.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He waives the waiter off with a hearty ‘no thank you’.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Granger looks at him dubiously. “Turning over a new leaf, are you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My life has a purpose now - I’m practically a new man,” he insists with a grin. “What, don’t believe me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shrugs half-heartedly. “Oh, I suppose change can be fun. For a little while, at any rate.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“For a little while!” he laughs. “First of all, I highly doubt you have fun with change. I put one of your books back out of order yesterday and you nearly had a conniption rushing over to put it back in its proper place. Secondly, it’s been a couple of weeks now, hasn’t it, Granger? That’s nearly a lifetime! Thirdly, I haven’t snuck out even once to seduce the local women-folk. You’re the only woman in my life right now. Proud of me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her smile is entirely faded. “Sure, Malfoy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh come on, Granger,” he grins again. “Let me be proud of myself, at least.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nobody’s stopping you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’s short with him again, and he is not quite sure what he did wrong. Mentioning Davies? Teasing her about her obsession for proper book stacking? He </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> hopes it’s the book thing rather than the Davies thing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bah,” he waves her off, somewhat annoyed. They had almost been having a lovely evening and all. “You might loosen up a little bit yourself. That notoriously big brain of yours has been working overtime for too many years. I can see it whenever you look at me, you know. You’re calculating exactly how to respond like your emotions are an arithmancy equation. It’s alright, Granger. It’s been long enough since Weasley, hasn’t it? You’re allowed to have another drink and flirt with me if you want. I promise I won’t even blackmail you about it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He thinks if he hadn’t already put her off, he certainly erred by mentioning Weasley aloud. Her jaw clenches and she sighs at him, clearly ready for the conversation to move on. “You enjoy making fun of me, don’t you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, no, you misunderstand me, as usual. I’m making fun of </span>
  <em>
    <span>myself,</span>
  </em>
  <span> you see. You’ve already seen me naked, after all - I’m at a constant disadvantage when it comes to your perception of me. Besides, I’ve had a bit of fun this week. I like studying with you. It’s nice to be one of the good guys for a little while.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A nice daydream, I’m sure,” she replies frostily.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They stare at each other for a long moment, and he can almost see her settle comfortably back behind her occlumency barricade.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Change can be fun, for a little while,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she had said, and with a sinking heart he thinks that, despite the significant improvement in his abdominals, she really believes that deep down he is the same scared, foolish boy who used to call her vulgar names before he took the Dark Mark and then stood around trying his best not to make eye contact with her while she was writhing in pain and screaming and crying on the drawing room floor of his ancestral home.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When the waiter returns, he orders himself a double whiskey just to see how she’ll react.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She isn’t surprised, or angry, or even irritated. Rather, she simply observes him quietly and quirks an eyebrow superiorly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He has a funny feeling in the pit of his stomach, and when the whiskey arrives he downs the glass immediately.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Draco 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Draco’s hangover is a familiar feeling, complete with that overwhelming sense of shame that often accompanies it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he stumbles into the sitting room, her eyes are cold again and her face expressionless. He groans to himself, sure that since she has committed so fully to the occlumency concept once again that he has managed to lose any progress with her that he might have been making.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He struggles through a lecture from her about some Egyptian underworld demon or another.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We believe this might be what they’re after - an ifrit,” she tells him. “As I’ve mentioned, we suspect that they have been mining orichalcum, and an ifrit is one of the few beings known to be responsive to the powder. You’ll remember that from Magical Creatures class, of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you serious, Granger?” he mumbles, head feeling as though it is nearly split in two. “That was nearly ten years ago! I can hardly remember last night, and you expect me to have my old homework memorized, do you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not my fault that you remember neither your schooling nor your evening,” she replies tersely, jaw tight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did I valiantly attempt to seduce you once again? And might I ask, was I in any way successful?” he forces a lecherous grin to his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stares at him coldly and he is sure the answer is a resounding yes followed by an even more resounding no.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighs dramatically. “Alright, Granger. An ifrit, yes. Underworld death demons. I’m listening.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is important, Malfoy, so do pay attention. You won’t go anywhere near the ritual site, but you’ll need to look for clues and help us confirm what they’re up to. This cult, they call themselves the Ignis Protectorate, and we suspect they’ve been illegally smuggling orichalcum powder into Cairo. It takes years to mine enough of it to be of use for any sort of magical efforts.” She says something about a vague magical binding ritual using a runeknife and summoning the dead from their resting place and it would all be quite interesting aside from the fact that his brain is quite literally attempting to make an escape from his skull.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Malfoy. Are you paying attention? This really is important. There's only a lot of suspicions at the moment, with no real proof - not to mention the fact that little is known about the ritual itself. That’s why we need someone on the inside, to help us confirm the plan and find a way to stop it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Summoning the dead,” he rolls his eyes and the hangover-tinted world swirls about in an attempt to catch up with him. “Sounds like a child’s story.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, apparently Sebek-ari believes it enough to illegally smuggle a dangerous substance into the country and murder at least one Ministry employee along the way. Think about it, Malfoy. A former Death Eater pursuing ancient magic involving resurrecting the dead. Still want to not take this seriously?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He scoffs at that in an attempt to not think about his terrifying former house guest or the man-devouring pet snake. “What, you think the old man will try to bring back the Dark Lord? Bollocks, Granger, that’s ridiculous.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shoots a glare at him. “You say that like he </span>
  <em>
    <span>hasn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> come back from the dead before. But sure, Malfoy, if you think it’s bollocks then I’m open to other suggestions. If you have a better theory-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds like something you lot should call in Potter to handle,” he grumbles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You really don’t think he’s done enough already? Malfoy-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, I actually think I’ve heard something about this before,” he interrupts her. “From an old book in the Manor’s library.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She actually perks up with interest before hesitating when she sees his grin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Agatha Vixen and The Cradle of Life. It’s a </span>
  <em>
    <span>fascinating</span>
  </em>
  <span> case study. If I recall correctly, dear Agatha eventually forgives her paramour, the distractingly handsome so-and-so, for being a relentless twat. Does that sound familiar at all?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thinks he sees her mouth twitch just the slightest, and he grins at her earnestly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She regards him for a long moment before she sighs. “I’m sure the handsome so-and-so apologized to Agatha for being a relentless twat </span>
  <em>
    <span>before </span>
  </em>
  <span>he was forgiven, for whatever that’s worth.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, imagine that, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m</span>
  </em>
  <span> a handsome so-and-so. And for whatever it’s worth, I apologize for acting like a twat. A relentless one, even.” His grin widens as her features soften and he is entirely confident that he will be back in her good graces in no time, and hopefully on track to be in her bed some time after that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His confidence is shaken somewhat that afternoon when they enter the room in the back of the cottage with the exercise equipment, and, without warning, she spins around and socks him in the stomach hard enough that he doubles over before collapsing to the ground in a heap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ohhh whatthefuck Granger,” he groans from the ground, gazing up at her breathlessly and feeling completely ridiculous.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you remember what I told you when we first chatted in Paris? You’re awful at fist-fighting, Malfoy. It’s an essential skill if you’re to be a successful spy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grunts as he pushes himself up to a seated position and tries to hold back a bit of vomit. “Merlin’s tits, Granger, that fucking hurt! This is ridiculous - I don’t understand the point of this muggle nonsense. I’ll always have my wand on me, and I can do a fair bit of windless magic besides. If I’m sober enough, at any rate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She levels him with her usual hard stare. Her bushy hair is pulled back into a braid so as not to fall onto her face. She is wearing a tank top and some tight fitting elastic pants, for which he is quite grateful, although upon gazing at her in return he realizes that her body has surprisingly been something of a blind spot this entire time they have spent together in the cottage. He had been operating under the assumption that she was still a skinny waifish thing like she used to be back in school, but no, no indeed. Without her frumpy oversized sweater she looks like she could take a marauding minotaur head-on. Strong looking muscles in places that look functional, purposeful even, rather than purely aesthetically pleasing like his own trusty abdominals. She is quite a lot shorter than he is, hardly reaching his shoulders on the tips of her toes, but she looks </span>
  <em>
    <span>tough.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Agatha Vixen, indeed! His imagination stemming from his schoolboy crush on Ms. Vixen immediately starts running wild.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The fact that you don’t understand the purpose is entirely the point. Most magical folk are used to duelling. They naturally expect that a disarmed wizard has been completely removed as a threat and are not prepared for a physical assault. Now, we don’t expect you to actually be in physical danger, but missions like this can go awry. A quick, calculated strike at the right time, even against an opponent with a wand, can save your life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He briefly wonders if she is speaking from experience before moving on to more important things, like putting on his best smoldering face as he gets to his feet. Well, the best he can manage without grimacing at any rate. “Don’t lie, Granger - you just want to touch me, don’t you? Shall I take my shirt off for you again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stares at him and as her mouth starts to form something like a smile, he starts to get nervous. Before he can even figure out why, she socks him in the stomach again and he immediately hits the floor with a strangled cry, though he would certainly be laughing with her if he could manage it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After she thoroughly embarrasses him once again, she reaches out a hand to help him up. He tries to hold on to her for an extra few seconds only to have her grab his wrist and spin him around like a damned ragdoll and toss him back on the ground, this time with her hands grasping his wrist and her foot on his shoulder as if she might yank his entire arm out of its socket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ow ow ow </span>
  <em>
    <span>Granger,</span>
  </em>
  <span> for the love of Merlin-!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She lets him go and he cradles his arm to his chest and shoots her a glare.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She smiles - smiles! - down at him, and he wonders if she might actually be psychotic. If so, then he must be as well, as he immediately envisions several scenarios in which she joins him on the ground in a tangled sort of embrace and has her way with him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That is what they call an arm bar. It’s very basic, you should pick it up quite easily. You’re awfully pampered, Malfoy - I guarantee no one will expect any sort of physical attacks from you.” She continues smirking at him before extending a hand, which he eyes dubiously. “Come on, stand up. I’d be a rotten teacher if I didn’t show you how to do it, wouldn’t I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By ‘show you how,’ apparently she means that she’ll toss him around a bit more while he tries to convince her to just let him grab his wand and they can have an old fashioned duel instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That conniving smile remains on her face when she promises him that they’ll get to magic practice soon enough, and his stomach drops, certain that she has all sorts of plans to hex his precious family jewels right off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite the violence of it all, having her hands on him has done nothing but further cement his infatuation, and he decides to be alert for an opportunity to turn the tables on her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next few days pass in a blur and leave him both mentally and physically exhausted before the opportunity he seeks arises.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He learns more about fire-breathing ifrit death demons and orichalcum powder and binding rituals and runeknives and death cults and all that in the mornings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After that, she runs him through some magic drills. Despite her casual threat, she doesn’t jinx him too much, instead practicing some spells which he hasn’t had cause to use for years. Disillusionment charms, muffliato spells and the like. He finds himself somewhat annoyingly impressed once again with her proficiency, while she seems thoroughly unimpressed with his rusty charmwork.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After the magic drills, she teaches him how to punch properly and then promptly kicks his arse again. He tries to sneak his wand on her just to prove that this martial artistry is all incredibly silly, and she twists his wrist and disarms him easily before he can so much as cast a quick leg-locker curse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He scowls, defeatedly acknowledging that there might, maybe, possibly be some value in the training, and he grumpily asks her to teach him that disarming trick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the third day, as she tosses him to the ground yet again, he manages to sort of bring her to the ground with him. He is flat on his back, and she is on top of him, one leg nearly trapped between his own, though she could surely rip his wrist right off his body if she desired.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wants to shift his hips and flip her over and devour her lips, but again, the wrist-ripping concept gives him pause.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Better,” she admits, a little sweaty from the exertion and he thinks her flushed cheeks are awfully striking. “But not great. I still have the advantage, see? This is the half-guard grappling position. I’m far more able to strike you from here. Remember when we talked about positioning?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yes, I know all the positions - I particularly recall the rear mount,” he grins wolfishly at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She frowns at him, blushing faintly before trying to pull away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sensing his moment, before she can withdraw completely he tightens his legs around hers and tugs her back towards him. As she braces her hand on the floor he reaches up to cup her cheek and sneak his lips against hers for the briefest moment before pulling back quickly to observe her and make sure she won’t retaliate by castrating him on the spot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her eyes widen and she inhales in a sharp gasp before setting her face in stone. She looks like an ice sculpture as she watches him wordlessly, and he can feel his heart pounding in his chest violently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You-” she starts to say hesitantly. “You clearly aren’t taking any of this seriously. Study up on the ifrit this evening. I’ll have a test prepared for you in the morning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You’re an ifrit,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he wants to say, and he tries to communicate it through his eyes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You’ll breathe your fire and burn me up from the inside before this is over.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She lingers for another moment before pulling herself away, and all things considered he is sure that their first kiss might have ended much worse for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After that, like a gytrash stalking its prey, he watches and waits. He pays attention during her lectures, he practices his spells, and he even diligently agrees to learn how to use something called a ‘cellular phone’ in order to effectively communicate when they arrive in Egypt. When they spar he occasionally lets his hands linger on her hips, almost teasingly, but nothing more than that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sometimes when she looks down at him after pinning him to the ground, she hesitates as though she expects him to try and kiss her again. When he doesn’t, he might be imagining it but he would swear he sees a flicker of something akin to disappointment playing behind her eyes, and he accepts that as a soaring victory.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he asks how much longer they’ll remain in the cottage, she replies that she doesn’t know - the officials in charge of the investigation are still finalizing the plan, though it certainly won’t be too much longer. He stares at her intently, hoping to impart a sense of urgency and remind her that this respite in the countryside has an expiration date which is rapidly approaching.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One morning, he brings her a cup of tea (Earl Grey is her preference) and looks over her shoulder at one of the books from Beauxbatons about the uncleverly-named Eye of Ra. She is taking notes in the margins, as usual, and he leans in closer to squint at her comments. He brushes against her shoulder and she glances at him, not quite annoyed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Look into crystallos amulets,’” he reads her note aloud. “We had a book on those types of things at the Manor, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She blinks at him, clearly curious and trying not to let it show. He has gotten quite good at reading those little emotions that she tries so hard to hide behind cold eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that so?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That is so,” he grins. “Anthology of Ancient Artifakts, by Wakefield. Quite rare, or so I’m told. I’d offer to go fetch it for you, but alas, I’m not allowed in my own home at the moment. I’m sure you could put in a request with the Ministry to borrow it if you’d like? If they ask for my approval, I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>bribeable as you well know. It’s really not fair, after all - Agatha Vixen had an entire mansion of her own that came with its own library, and you’re over here having to borrow one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He watches with barely disguised glee as her eyes practically warm up in front of him and a smile cracks itself upon her face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve always wanted to read that,” she admits, unable to stop the smile from growing. “There’s an entire chapter about bloodstones and their application in ritualistic healing wards.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve read it,” he grins. “It’s fascinating. There’s an arithmancy component as well. As I said, you can borrow the book, but - if you’re interested, I suppose I can summarize it in the meantime?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her eyes are bright with curiosity, and - maybe something else as she nods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That little moment of peace-making hardly prevents her from grabbing his wrist and slamming him to the ground again that afternoon, but he is ready for it and this time when he falls down, he pulls her with him and she lands directly between his legs, which he hooks behind her knees to lock her in place. He smirks, thinking she surely let him pull her along with him, and she is breathing fairly heavily on top of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He ignores the throbbing in his wrist and reaches a hand up to brush back a strand of her hair that has fallen across her face and gently tucks it back behind her ear. She watches him and doesn’t retreat. He rests his hand there for a moment, nearly touching her cheek but not quite, and for just the briefest moment something </span>
  <em>
    <span>flickers</span>
  </em>
  <span> behind her eyes. When she doesn’t immediately slap his hand away, he decides to push his luck as far as he can without scaring her away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He drops his hand a little lower, fingertips barely grazing against the skin of her neck, her arm, lower and lower.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He watches her closely for any sign of - anything, encouragement or rejection, </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything,</span>
  </em>
  <span> as he very, very slowly slides his fingers under the fabric of her shirt. When his thumb grazes ever so gently against her bare skin, </span>
  <em>
    <span>there it is-</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Her breath hitches.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without hesitating a moment longer, he grasps her waist with his free hand and bucks his hips, flipping her onto her back and leaning onto her heavily. He stifles the sexy-grappling comments he desperately wants to make (“I do prefer to be on top”, “It appears I’ve gained the dominant position,” “Maybe we can practice the rear naked choke”, etc.) for fear that she’ll sock him one and never give him this much freedom to touch her again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nearly resting his forehead against hers, he notes that her eyes are shut tightly as her breath ghosts against his face. He doesn’t dare kiss her, but slowly, ever so slowly, his hand continues its treacherous journey northwards under her shirt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gently brushing against her skin, he dances his hand up along her ribs before making his way to the underside of her breast, and he watches her expression closely as he wraps his hand around her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her eyes stay shut, but her mouth quivers open, and as he grazes her nipple with his thumb her breath escapes in a sharp exhale, puffing against his cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taking that as all the encouragement he needs, he starts to knead her breast, rolling her nipple between his fingers until it peaks and she arches into him. He grunts heavily and shifts his hips against hers, grinding lightly and needing her to </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span> what she does to him, and she lets out a soft moan that he will treasure in his dreams forever. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He starts to snake his other hand lower to the waistband of her pants, but he spares a glance at her face and-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her frown has deepened and her eyes are screwed shut while her brow is deeply furrowed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s - well, far more outward emotions than usual for her, but not exactly the sort of face which is conducive to a harmless, guilt-free, meaningless shag session in his experience.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She still hates him, he’s sure of it. Despite those occasional little smiles he has managed to win, she will always know him and she will always hate him.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Just let go,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he wants to tell her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m not going to hurt you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>His hand stills at her core. He very quickly debates just carrying on and sticking his tongue down her throat and rutting until they’re both spent, but he hesitates uneasily, wondering what is going through her mind. He can’t think of a single reason for why she already let him get as far as he did, and he wonders if she is thinking about Weasley, if she feels that she is betraying his memory. He wonders when the last time she got properly fucked was. Weasley bit it years ago, and he doesn’t know if she has dated at all since then. Maybe she’s just horny, and he’s here and easy, and she hates him but she wants to use him. Which would be fine, but-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her frown deepens, and he uneasily finds that he somewhat desperately doesn’t want to hurt her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes a herculean effort on his part to stop, but when he starts to back away, her eyes snap open and- </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And they’re not ice cold any longer. They’re full of </span>
  <em>
    <span>fire </span>
  </em>
  <span>and when she pulls him down and their lips crash together, he thinks he might burn up altogether.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Welp, fight-flirting is kinda my porn! Hope you're enjoying the story so far - we'll be diving more into the Egypt plot pretty soon and things will pick up pretty quickly.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Draco 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>At the blatant wide-eyed, out of control panic on her face immediately after - the coupling? no, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>incident</span>
  </em>
  <span> - he had insisted to her that it didn’t have to </span>
  <em>
    <span>mean</span>
  </em>
  <span> anything, that it could have been just a bit of fun, though he was secretly thinking that it might have meant everything. She had clenched her jaw and nodded in agreement, and his heart died a little bit in his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first night after, she had turned to him somewhat bashfully and said, “Malfoy...I’ve decided to rescind your ban on entering my bedroom. Just - so you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had grinned devilishly and followed behind her. A meaningless shag was still a shag, after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They fall into a new variation of the old pattern.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They study in the morning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They fight in the afternoon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fuck in the evening, despite his most sincere attempt to make love to her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s bafflingly hilarious to him that in the time it takes for her to shower and leave her room, she snaps back into Granger Mode. Her shoulders tense and she tries not to smile at his jokes and she pretends like they aren’t fucking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She goes to meet with Roger Davies and he wants to ask if she’ll tell him about </span>
  <em>
    <span>them,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but he expects that she won’t and he keeps his mouth shut.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They study in the mornings and don’t talk about the fact that they fucked just hours earlier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They fight or practice magic in the afternoons and don’t talk about the fact that they’re going to fuck later.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They fuck in the evenings and he watches closely for the moment when her carefully constructed control shatters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sex with Granger is something like strategic warfare.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She has several clever methods of rejecting his evening love-making attempts. Sometimes when he starts to gaze into her eyes, she’ll roll them at him and spit out a half-hearted insult before turning over so he can fuck her from behind. Other times, when he is buried inside her and tries to kiss her too deeply, she’ll rake her fingers down his back until he hisses and captures her wrists tightly before holding her down and fucking her hard. More than once, if he starts to try to whisper sweet words in her ear, reminiscent of their sparring she’ll grab his wrist and flip him onto his back before mounting him and riding his cock until they are both gasping for breath. In any of the methods, her eyes are afire and he doesn’t miss their coldness one bit. He shouldn’t have expected her to be anything but clever in stymying him, and when he groans and comes inside her he finds that he doesn’t mind her methods so much.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He is more and more convinced that he was correct in his assessment of her. She’s horny, and he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>there, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and she’ll hate him forever but it doesn’t really matter because he can make her come.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But in the mornings-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the mornings, he lets himself pretend that maybe she won’t hate him forever. In the mornings she wakes up, eyes wide and mournful, and he is entirely hers. She lets him be gentle with her, she lets him kiss her, she lets him hold her. He has no idea why, other than to conclude that her overactive brain must be too exhausted in the twilight of dawn to sequester away her body’s needs into a tiny corner in the back of her mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When it’s over, her eyes quickly grow sharp again as her features snap into place, and even though he has grown to expect it, the rejection still stings viciously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thinks that, despite her carefully schooled features, he is beginning to understand her much more clearly. To his absolute delight, she is a far cry from the coldly composed creature she presents herself as being. Rather, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>real</span>
  </em>
  <span> Hermione Granger is a bit of a mess, and they have more in common than he ever would have predicted. She is a bundle of tightly wound nerves wrapped around old memories and held together by carefully constructed occlumency shields. She is more interesting and crazy and broken than he had expected.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Interesting because he suddenly finds himself wanting to buy rare Egyptology books for her just to see her eyes light up at some odd fact she hadn’t known before, and he finds himself reticently impressed with the breadth of her knowledge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crazy because based on the flicker in her eye and twitch of her lips, he can tell she wants to very literally murder him for not putting her books away in the proper order, or making the bed </span>
  <em>
    <span>slightly</span>
  </em>
  <span> differently than how she prefers, and how whenever anything is even slightly out of her control she looks like she might spontaneously combust.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Broken because sometimes her eyes grow distant and he can tell that she is stuck in the past, haunted by echoes of screams and blood and death, and he wonders if she recognizes the same look in his own face.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s okay,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he wants to tell her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No one can hurt you here. I’ll protect you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She continues to beat the shit out of him when they train and remind him that she doesn’t need protection, least of all from him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One night, she is looking properly fucked with tousled hair, flushed cheeks, and a love bite blooming on her neck courtesy of his handiwork. Her eyes are open and far away, staring at the ceiling. He reaches over to cup her left breast lightly in his palm and instead of slapping his hand away, she lets out an almost contented sigh, so he presses a quick kiss to the bruised spot on her neck before asking what she’s thinking about.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She is quiet for a time, eyes wide in the darkness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t sleep, sometimes,” she admits softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He has certainly noticed, and he is aware of the nightmares that cause her to jerk awake in the middle of the night, but he doesn’t mention that fact. More than once she has cried out for old Weasley in the night, to a sinking feeling in his stomach. He has a theory which he does not share with her that all the occlumency has a nasty side-effect of storing up all the repressed memories and emotions until they emerge so dreadfully the moment she falls asleep, when she loses control of her ability to wall them off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It all comes back at night. The war, Ron, </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything.</span>
  </em>
  <span> I just wish...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She trails off as he starts to gently rub his thumb along the curve of her breast, not particularly liking the fact that Weasley is on her mind so immediately after a valiant effort on his part during which she had gotten off twice, with the potential of one more in her future before attempting to fall asleep, sated and exhausted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You wish what?” he whispers, sure that she would never be speaking so freely to him in the light of day. Rationally, he is aware that she still hates him and that this is just like the reason they’re fucking - he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>there</span>
  </em>
  <span> and willing to listen - but sometimes he lets himself believe that he can exist in a world where she might trust him as a confidant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sighs heavily, glancing at him wearily. “I wish my brain had a bloody off switch sometimes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lets out a short laugh and presses a quick kiss to her breast before meeting her eyes with a grin. “Might I suggest that you avoid my own personal tried and true method of remaining in a drunken stupor as consistently as possible? Turns the brain right off, but it’s bad for you, they say.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her lips twitch slightly in that way he is starting to recognize as her sad smile. “Oh, I’ve tried your method already. It tends to backfire more often than not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smirks, pinching lightly at her nipple and rolling it between his fingers, enjoying watching her suck in a deep breath. “You’ve also drunkenly attempted to seduce Parisian newlyweds only to get thrashed by their new husbands?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He is rewarded by the briefest flicker of a smile before it fades and her eyes darken. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ron and I used to argue about it all the time. He didn’t really understand why I would sometimes need to - </span>
  <em>
    <span>forget</span>
  </em>
  <span> about everything, at least for a little while.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Forget about how his own dearest auntie tortured her in his own home until her voice was raw from screaming-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hand stills its ministrations.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m an intelligent woman,” she acknowledges, simply and with only her usual amount in the way of arrogance. “But I couldn’t figure out why he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine, </span>
  </em>
  <span>while I was...”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>While I was broken,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he supplies sadly, knowing exactly what she means.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He watches her closely as her eyes harden, briefly wondering why she is admitting any of this to him. He wants to tell her that they are </span>
  <em>
    <span>the same,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>gets her,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and he feels broken every single day, but he remains silent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d - been drinking the night Ron...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The night Ron was murdered, he finishes her sentence in his head again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I sometimes wonder if...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her voice trails off and she doesn’t need to continue the thought because he thinks he can more or less fill in the blanks. He imagines the pain, the guilt, the coping. Replacing a drinking addiction with an addiction to working. Working with the Ministry seeking - </span>
  <em>
    <span>something.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Maybe vengeance, maybe a feeling of making a difference, maybe protecting someone. Realizing that even though the Good Guys won the war, there was still so much darkness and evil in the world that it was nearly overwhelming and entirely out of the realms of control - enough to make a person spiral into more drinking, really.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t voice any of this. Instead, he reaches down to lightly smack her arse with his free hand and she blinks at him, startled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not your fault, Granger,” he says easily, thinking she looks far away and sad and might need a distraction and even though he’ll never be what she really wants, he can certainly help with that, at least. “No need to punish yourself. Though if it’s truly punishment you’re after, I’ve a few ideas on the subject and am more than happy to educate you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He slaps her arse lightly again and grins at her, and her eyes are burning with fire until she shuts them and leans over and kisses him fiercely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wraps a hand in her wild hair and kisses her back, knowing that it doesn’t mean anything to her, but also knowing that it has surely started to mean something to </span>
  <em>
    <span>him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>In the morning, his lips are fastened to hers, one of her legs is draped over his shoulder and he has two fingers inside of her when her stupid, evil cellular phone thing begins to buzz on the nightstand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a tantalizingly breathy groan, she presses one hand against his chest as she grabs for the phone with the other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grins devilishly, leaning forward to lift her leg even higher in the air while twisting his fingers against that spot that he knows makes her eyelids flutter shut. He bends down to latch onto her left nipple, lapping and sucking gently as she answers the phone with a gasp.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She has a brief, hushed conversation on the phone in between shooting a withering glare at him as his thumb brushes against her clit and her entire body shivers. Her hand reaches up to squeeze his shoulder, probably more as a warning than an encouragement, but he refuses to acknowledge the hint and leans further in to run his tongue along her neck as he curls his fingers inside her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right,” she agrees to the caller with a little hitch in her voice. The little white pearls of her teeth dig desperately into the flesh of her lower lip. “No, I’m - I’m fine. I’ll be there soon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she ends the phone call she glares at him violently, and he grins down at her, pumping his fingers until her glare fades and she gasps and squirms against his hand. “Leaving me for Davies, are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She bucks her hips against him, smirking up at him somewhat. “Well, he’s rather better looking than you, isn’t he? No - wait, no, don’t you dare stop-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grins wider before withdrawing his fingers, dragging them out ever so slowly, to her immense displeasure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So rude, you are. I’m afraid work always </span>
  <em>
    <span>comes first,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ms. Vixen, handsome co-workers be damned. To be continued,” he promises, immediately conjuring up all sorts of ideas to continue this moment, and he grows impossibly hard at the thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re an arse, you know,” she responds shakily, offering him one of her little almost-smiles as she rolls out of the bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I’m well aware. I’m somewhat of an expert at arses, you know.” He stares at her pointedly at her naked rear until she blushes, mumbles something about how ridiculous he is, and rushes away to have a shower.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even as he reflects upon the fact that he will never get sick of being the one responsible for her rare blushes, he shifts uncomfortably on the bed. Despite thoroughly enjoying teasing her, the deep aching stiffness of his cock reminds him that he is surely punishing himself as well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Think it’ll finally be about this secret spy mission of ours?” he calls after her, reaching down to give himself a quick tug to alleviate the ache. It - almost helps, though knowing exactly how naked she is only one room away is doing him no favors. “I’m almost getting bored out here, you know. You’ll need to come up with something incredibly clever to keep me distracted if we’re to be here any longer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“More likely than not, and you most assuredly are </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> bored out here...though I may have a clever idea or two up my sleeve.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grins as his heart skips a beat, and he decides that sodding Davies can hang and he follows her into the shower. She smiles at him from under the running water and pulls him close.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She is gone for most of the day, but he doesn’t mind, settling in for a bit of research. She’ll be proud of him, surely, as he is confident that he can not only rapidly identify the vermillion colored orichalcum powder required for this (patently ridiculous) demon-summoning ritual, but he thinks he might have an idea of what the timeline for the ritual might look like. Orichalcum mining is notoriously slow, but if they have been at it for a time, as the Ministry believes, then according to a few quick arithmancy equations he puts together, the most likely time for the ritual would be All Hallow’s Eve, when the spirits are most active.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hears her car make its way up the road and feels a little bit like a dog enthusiastically waiting for its owner to return from a trip. He is aware that it is a tad pathetic, but he glances up when she walks in and can’t help the stupid smile that springs to his face and oh Merlin, if his idiot Hogwarts-era self knew what sort of things this woman would make him feel one day, he might have tried to seduce her years ago.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he opens his mouth to tell her the delightful joke he composed while she was out (about how </span>
  <em>
    <span>wet</span>
  </em>
  <span> she got in the shower that morning), he pauses upon seeing her face. She looks-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looks ice cold again. His smile fades as he watches her warily. He has gotten somewhat used to the fire and finds that he doesn’t quite like the sudden return to form.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He clears his throat awkwardly and stands. “Well? What’d he say then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can review after dinner, I think.” Her jaw is set firmly and his unease is rankled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He assumes that his departure for Egypt is imminent. He hadn’t imagined a scenario in which their current arrangement of unacknowledged fucking would be permitted by her to continue outside of the cottage, but he hadn’t planned for it to come to the abrupt end that her expression seems to indicate that it will.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He reminds himself to remember that she hates him, and that any thoughts he may have accidentally been developing to the contrary were nothing more than a coital trap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How about you tell me now? Please don’t tell me this is the part of our story where you confess you’re actually married with a couple of little brats and our horrid love affair must come to an abrupt end,” he twists his lips into an ugly grin as he takes a step closer to her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll be pleased to know that I’ve received details about your assignment,” she starts somewhat tersely, ignoring both the invented backstory and his use of the phrase ‘love affair.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh?” he replies tentatively, deeply uneasy at the turn in her demeanor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. We have a location where we believe the orichalcum is being stored, at least temporarily. You’re familiar with the Greengrass family, of course?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” he repeats blandly, sure that she hasn’t somehow forgotten the fact that Daphne Greengrass was in their class and his own housemate at Hogwarts, while equally sure that she is familiar with the fact that he and Astoria Greengrass dated for a time some years ago.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well. They’re affiliated with the Ignis Protectorate, as we’ve discussed previously. You’re to infiltrate your way into the group through the Greengrass family.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He blinks at her for a moment, and she continues to regard him coolly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not sure how well that will work - our families were never that close. Besides, Daphne never cared for me in school,” he starts, purposefully ignoring the concept that she is surely angling towards.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Astoria did, however.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She - did,” he admits, gritting his teeth. He holds her gaze steadily and finds that his jaw is clenching. “She was a bit more invested in our relationship than I was, however, which I’m sure she remembers in a less than fond manner.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She goes to the lounge at the Museum of Mythological Magicks every Thursday for tea. You’re to spontaneously run into her there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His stomach curdles somewhat and he takes another step closer to her. She doesn’t flinch or back away. “Oh am I? And then what am I to do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She doesn’t so much as blink. “We need to find out what’s going on inside the Estate. You’re to convince her to trust you and secure an invitation.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He continues to stare dumbly at her for a moment, attempting to erase the concept of morning love-making and evening-fucking from his mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And how am I to do that?” he asks, turning his eyes downcast and bracing himself for the answer, fully prepared to despise her for it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She still fancies you to this day, apparently. You’ll use that as an in.” He thinks he could sharpen a sword on the iciness of her tone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A current of rage starts to simmer within him - not only at being treated so callously, but for not even the barest acknowledgement of his own situation. He takes another step until the distance between them is nearly closed. “Ah...so I’m to be a whore, is that it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nearly flinches at that. “That’s up to you, Malfoy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He scoffs harshly. “Oh, I have a choice now, do I? I suppose you knew that this would be the plan all along?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I only just found out.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what did you say when you found out? Surely you told Davies that little old Draco Malfoy would be </span>
  <em>
    <span>perfect</span>
  </em>
  <span> for such a job. He’s excellent at seducing women, isn’t he? You thoroughly vetted me, after all.” He sneers at her and is a little devastated to receive no reaction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t say a thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No? Might’ve been nice of you to tell them that I’m not like that anymore and reject the offer on my behalf. ‘Sure he used to be a piece of shit Death Eater, and sure he’s a bit of a cock-up, but that doesn’t mean you can treat him this way,’ you might’ve said.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told you, I didn’t say a thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want me to do it? Run along and be a little whore for your Ministry?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He is so close to her and he just wants to grab her and shake her until she admits that she wants him to stay just where he is, with her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It doesn’t matter what I want.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her eyes are cold, so cold, and he misses that fire that he knows can burn so brightly. He wants to see those flames again, almost desperately.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So - what was all this then? What was all the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking</span>
  </em>
  <span> about, hmm? Some sort of test? Wanted to make sure my seduction skills were up to snuff, did you?” He feels vile and a little sick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This - was nothing.” Her eyes don’t even flicker as she holds his gaze, and he is desperate to convince himself that he is not imagining the slight break in her voice. “We were just having a little fun.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stares at her for a long moment. Her face betrays no emotion, but she has to be lying, he’s sure of it. He has </span>
  <em>
    <span>seen</span>
  </em>
  <span> her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rushes forward and shoves her hard against the wall until she gasps, and she glares at him but it’s not what he wants, it’s still pure ice. He leans in and kisses her hard, but she purses her lips and doesn’t respond.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulls back and glares at her witheringly. “Don’t want to be my first client then, Granger? Or are you my pimp in this scenario? If I’m to be a proper whore, I expect you’ll want to test out your goods?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He breathes a heavy puff of air against that sensitive spot on her neck as he shifts his hips against her, and she is a good actress but her body trembles and betrays her desires.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You want me to fuck you, don’t you? You do, I can tell. One last time?” he whispers, a growl in her ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She rests her hands heavily against his chest as if to push him back but she shivers against him and exhales shakily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He undoes the top button of her trousers and sticks his hand in her panties, and she is already dripping when he dips a finger inside her. He smirks sneeringly at her, and she slaps him right across the face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He immediately grabs both the offending hand and the innocent one and wraps her wrists in one hand, slamming them against the wall above her head. He eyes her heavily for a moment, giving her a chance to back out despite the twitching in his loins.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me to stop,” he whispers with a glare, and if she really thinks she hates him then he’s more than willing to fuck her as if he does too.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Tell me not to go to Egypt, tell me to stay with you, tell me you want me-</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Her chest heaves as she breathes, and she stares at him in a cold challenge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He growls, not wanting to see those cold fucking eyes any longer and spins her around, pressing her face first into the wall. He shoves her pants down and positions himself at her entrance. He tries to think of something witty to say but he’s too full of anger and can only think of awful things, but he instinctively knows that he doesn’t want to actually hurt her, so he just grabs his cock and without preamble thrusts himself to the hilt inside her. Something deep within him stirs at her strangled gasp, and he holds still for just a moment, engulfed by her and wanting to savor the feeling. He presses his lips gently against the base of her neck, never wanting to forget what she feels like, what she tastes like.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shifts impatiently against him, clearly not interested in having any sort of emotional moment when it comes to him, so he obliges and starts to fuck her hard. She prefers fucking to making love, after all. He drops her wrists and grabs her unruly hair with one hand, yanking hard until she lets out a cry and tosses her head back, exposing her neck. He dives in greedily, running his teeth along the juncture of her neck and her collarbone before biting down, accentuating the movement with a hard thrust, and she groans ferally.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nips and bites his way along her neck, her back, and as she braces her hands against the wall he grasps her hips hard enough to bruise and pumps away until she is writhing against him. He sneaks a hand between her and the wall to toy with her clit while he thrusts, and he recognizes her little gasps and moans to know that she is close, and he fucks her as hard as he can to push her over the edge and to make sure she’ll fucking remember him forever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She comes with something that sounds like a sob, and she quakes in his grasp for a moment, but he doesn’t slow down, thrusting again and again as hard as he can into her slackened body until everything inside him tightens and stars burst behind his eyes and he comes harder than he ever has in his entire life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still inside her, all he wants to do is reach over and hold her hand, but-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But no. She had been quite clear on where they stand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nowhere. They were </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>After a long moment he pulls out of her and they both groan, and she nearly sinks down the wall. Her arms are shaking against it with the effort of holding herself upright.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She doesn’t turn to look at him, remaining still with her forehead resting against the wall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He spares her a final glance before turning away and staking slowly to his bedroom. The part of him hoping for her to call out to him on his way is entirely disappointed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She is gone in the morning when he wakes.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Draco 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He knows that he won’t see her again until he is settled in Egypt, and a part of him wonders why he is even bothering to go. His parents will probably be </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine</span>
  </em>
  <span> remaining banished from the ancestral home they adore so much, won’t they?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Whenever he is seconds away from declaring his intention to quit, he hears a nagging little voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Granger reminding him that he should probably do the right thing this time around and prevent that whole ‘resurrecting the Dark Lord’ thing, if he can.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Roger Davies had observed him suspiciously for a moment before shoving a portkey in his hand which whisked him away to his new fake life in Cairo, and he felt nothing but emptiness inside. He was given instructions on which hotel to check in at, and notified that Granger would be along in a couple weeks so as not to arouse suspicion of the timing of their arrival. In the meantime, he was to attempt to reconnect with Astoria to the best of his ability.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Seeing Astoria again for the first time in years had been almost delightful. The poor girl’s eyes had lit up so happily upon seeing him at the Museum of Mythological Magicks, with no hints at all of ice or coldness. After having gotten so used to analyzing Granger’s emotional range from the barest twitching of her lips or gleaming in her eyes, Astoria’s deeply expressive face had been somewhat refreshing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Draco!” she had gasped in surprise upon seeing him in the museum lounge, eyes wide and earnest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Astoria? What an unexpected delight,” he had lied easily. “What brings you here?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Daphne and I come here for tea often enough. Oh, but you should join us!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria is kind, sweet, and looks at him as though he is the kind of person that she wants him to be, and when she smiles at him he feels deeply guilty and a little something like a monster. Astoria’s family might be involved in some sort of nefarious cult-like activities, but the girl herself is lovely. No barbed comments or casual insults or in-depth discussions about ritualistic applications of bloodstones, and certainly no getting socked in the stomach so hard that he might vomit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He smiles at her kindly and doesn’t have to force himself to be polite.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Much to his (and Daphne’s) chagrin, it quickly appears that Astoria is perfectly willing to forgive him his debaucherous lifestyle choices from his time in Paris and resume their relationship in full stride as though it had never ended.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He is almost immediately able to secure an invitation to her family’s large Egyptian Estate, which has apparently been in the family on their mother’s side for generations. They would summer there frequently, with their mother’s Egyptian family located nearby, and the patriarch of the family would stay there often to conduct his business affairs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He gets something of a tour, but doesn’t notice anything particularly evil or cultish about the place. He thinks he detects some sort of protective spell in place around the wine cellar, but he does not have much of an opportunity to explore it. Though entirely different architecturally, the place reminds him somewhat of Malfoy Manor - wealthy and cold. Large pillars support the enormous structure, with floor to ceiling entry doors up a curving flight of stairs. Beautiful green palm trees dot the desertscape.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It is quite clear based upon her intense glaring that Daphne dislikes having him around so often, but he focuses his efforts on charming Astoria and earning the right to spend more and more time at the Estate.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One evening for a dinner party at the Estate, he gets his first chance to meet the players in the Ignis Protectorate as an old friend appears and charges towards him enthusiastically.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Draco! My old mate from Slytherin,” laughs Blaise Zabini somewhat maniacally. The man’s eyes are quite reddish, and Draco feels fairly sure that he has had a bit more than alcohol to get him going this evening.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“All right, Blaise? Long time, old friend,” he grins and clasps Zabini’s clammy hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Blaise certainly looks worse for wear - he is quite thin, with dark circles under his eyes. A far cry from the healthy lad he used to know who would run around Hogsmeade chasing girls with him back in the day. His dark hair is spiked up haphazardly, and he has a nervous, twitchy energy about him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Long time indeed! Heard you were living it up in Paris, eh?” Zabini winks and elbows him. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell Astoria all the awful things I’ve heard about you, mate. Come here, let me introduce you to some people. Sebek-ari! Come, meet my friend Draco Malfoy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sebek-ari. He recalls the name very well from his briefings. He hears Granger’s voice explaining the man to him (“It was never confirmed, but he was long suspected of being a Death Eater. He was well connected and hasn’t been back to England after the war, so never brought to trial. He’s the leader of the Ignis Protectorate. Be careful should you find yourself around him - people who displease him have been known to disappear, never to be seen again.” “Well, I’m sure none of them have their own personal Agatha Vixen to rescue them upon their disappearances!” Cue her eye roll).</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shakes his head and wills away all thoughts of </span>
  <em>
    <span>her.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sebek-ari looks fairly terrifying, with a tall, dark presence and a sharply angled face, and he manages a polite smile while he withstands a withering look from the man.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Malfoy,” Sebek-ari repeats, coldly eyeing him. “I knew your father quite well, for a time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From Death Eater summer camp, perhaps? “I knew my father well for a time too,” he answers with something like a cheeky grin, though Sebek-ari’s dark gaze sets his nerves on edge.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sebek-ari offers a disturbingly cold smile in response before turning away, and he feels as though his chances of being murdered before the night is over have dramatically increased for some reason.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Blaise introduces him to a few more people, and he tries to memorize all the names and occupations he learns. Some portly gentleman named Ackerly Viridian, claiming to be an alchemist. Another man, Maxwell Lazenby, who he recognizes as having had a brother who was a fellow Death Eater. The man exchanges a sly smile with him, as though they are in on some secret, and he feels quite uneasy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He meets a fairly boring fellow named Danny Kershaw, an associate of Viridian the alchemist and society friend of Zabini and the Greengrass ladies.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally, Zabini introduces him to yet another terrifying character. A strikingly gorgeous woman named Violet Evilian, with long blond hair and deep purple eyes. Violence dances about in her eyes, and her entire demeanor strikes him as alarmingly deadly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m in love with her, and I fear it’ll be the death of me,” sighs Zabini dramatically.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It very well might be,” Violet agrees in a dangerous sounding voice with a devilish smile that makes him think that she is not joking at all, despite Zabini laughing it off.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He decides that there are far too many former Death Eaters and other terrifying types, plus that one awful boring fellow, to make this worth his while. Maybe he should just break up with Astoria again and go back to getting roaringly drunk and wandering the streets of Paris. Back to life before Granger.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Zabini pulls him aside with a manic grin. “Hey, Drake - any interest in soaring the skies? I’ve recently managed to acquire a bit of dragon’s dust. Might help you deal with all of </span>
  <em>
    <span>these</span>
  </em>
  <span> people,” he grins further, gesturing around wildly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He cringes at that, thinking it explains quite a lot. He has tried powdered dragon’s claw in the past and, while he certainly enjoyed the trip, the lingering side-effects were a bit too devastating for him to make it a common occurrence, even on his worst days in Paris. Zabini, on the other hand, looks like he has committed to the habit, as he twitches his head and glances rapidly about the room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait...” Zabini mumbles, eyes widening at something across the room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco frowns, watching Zabini nearly sprint across the room to gape dramatically at a bottle of wine on the table. He tries to listen as Zabini frantically mutters something to the Greengrass patriarch, but can hardly make out a word. Mr. Greengrass, for his part, seems to urge Zabini to calm down, and opens the wine bottle to pour a glass. Zabini appears to wilt and apologize profusely, while Mr. Greengrass clasps his shoulder in a friendly manner while shooting a hard glance towards Sebek-ari, Daphne and Violet Evilian across the room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He frowns, unsure of what to make of the exchange, as Astoria approaches him and entwines her arm through his with a lovely smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I hope my father’s friends haven’t been intimidating you,” she jokes happily with him, turning him away from Zabini’s tweaking form.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not at all,” he smiles lightly at her, sparing a glance at Sebek-ari whispering to Violet with a cold look on his face. “Though I thought Sebek-ari might evaporate me with the power of his stare. Scary fellow, he is. What’s his deal?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, maybe he’s a little scary, but he’s a very sweet man at heart. He used to sneak me sweets as a girl, believe it or not. Mum used to get so furious at him for that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He laughs a little with Astoria as he rests his hand gently on the small of her back, watching closely as Violet steps away from the man and makes her way towards Zabini.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can hardly imagine that. Hey, do you think Blaise is alright? He seems a little...unwell.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria seems to hesitate, glancing uneasily over at Zabini, who is now engaged in a grinning conversation with the blond woman. “He’ll be fine, I expect,” she replies vaguely.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shortly after that, as they continue to sip on the unremarkable elderwine from the bottle that had nearly given Zabini a panic attack, the man approaches them accompanied by the unsettling Violet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oi, sorry about all that earlier,” he grins at them, head tilting to the side. “Think I might be a glass or two over my limit. Sorry, Astoria, I’ll be taking my leave. The dinner was lovely.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria looks back and forth between Zabini and Violet uneasily. “Not a problem, Blaise. We’ll have tea next week.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco takes half a step forward, but Astoria’s grasp on his arm tightens as Violet turns pointedly to watch him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hesitates, turning to Blaise cautiously. “Good to see you, mate. Sure you’re alright?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Zabini grins twitchily and nods. “Fine, fine. Violet here is going to babysit me, fear not. All good.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Violet’s eyes are cold and terrifying and the smile on her face makes him shudder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As the two depart, Astoria stares after them apprehensively for a moment before she pulls him closer and presses a light kiss to his lips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With her father present, not to mention several murderous characters in the forms of Sebek-ari and his associates, he decides not to risk spending the night. He stays for another glass of wine before he bids his sweetest farewell to Astoria, who gazes at him so earnestly that he feels rotten inside.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he arrives back at his hotel suite still feeling like a monster, he is hardly surprised to see Granger there, casually sitting on his couch reading a book with that emotionlessly cold look in her eyes. He thinks that she looks tired, unrelated to the attempt at occlumency, and he almost lets himself think that she hasn’t been sleeping because she feels badly about their last encounter in France. Or if she had just gotten used to falling asleep pressed up against his chest after a thorough ravaging. Or, he hopes bitterly, ideally both.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He can’t quite drum up enough hatred to hope that she has been lying awake, sleep disturbed by old, awful nightmares, unable to return to a peaceful slumber. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sighing heavily, he walks over to the bar to make himself a cocktail to get him through this encounter. The several glasses of wine throughout the evening suddenly seem to have been nowhere near enough. He can feel her eyes on him, and he can’t help but recall the last time he saw her - shaking and freshly fucked, braced against the wall of their little cottage and refusing to look at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pours a generous amount of whiskey into a tumbler, deciding to forgo the cocktail concept and keep it as pure as possible before he turns back to her with a raised eyebrow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He tries to convince himself that he managed to fuck her out of his system during their last encounter and does his best to shove the memories of her writhing under him into the farmost depths of his mind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aren’t you supposed to be some sort of a spy, Granger? Slumming about my hotel room seems rather like a giveaway.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No one saw me,” she replies confidently.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right. If I get murdered by one of these bloody cultists then I’ll be happy to know it wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>your</span>
  </em>
  <span> fault.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She frowns at that. “Do you think you’re in danger?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shrugs and takes a long drink before replying. The whiskey burns it’s way down his throat and he shudders. “Isn’t that the point of all this?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, it isn’t. If they get too suspicious of you, we’ll get you out of there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He rolls his eyes at her. “Everyone is </span>
  <em>
    <span>always </span>
  </em>
  <span>suspicious of me, Granger.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She stares at him for a beat, and the air feels a little heavy to him. After a moment, she clears her throat. “Well, in that case I suppose you’ll be grateful that I took the prerogative of adding a protective spell to your suite. You’ll know if someone tries to enter from now on. It is undetectable unless you know to look for it, so if you should have any - visitors - then it won’t be a problem.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He watches her closely, but her face remains blank. He is tempted to thank her for adding the protection, but he finds himself dubious as to her motives. Visitors - surely she is thinking of Astoria. More specifically, of him bringing Astoria back to his hotel room. He wonders if she has spent any time dwelling on the fact that she sent him off to Egypt with the specific goal of shagging another woman, and he finds himself bitterly hoping that she has.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good to know,” he responds indifferently.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I understand Sebek-ari made an appearance at the Estate tonight?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Merlin, how many spies do you have running around the country?” he laughs harshly. “Yes, yes, your man was there and looking particularly evil. I fully expect him to go ‘mwah-ha-ha’ at some point. Blaise introduced me to him and a few other blokes. There was Viridian, an alchemist, and a fellow named Danny Kershaw - they work together. Boring bloke, you’d quite like him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve met him before,” she offers tentatively. “At a lecture.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Please tell me he’s not one of the many broken-hearted men you’ve left in your wake,” he forces an ugly grin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She stares him down coldly, clearly with no intention of answering. “Viridian is a big deal...He is a highly regarded researcher. I wonder how involved he actually is with all of this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There was also a woman there. She works with Sebek-ari, apparently. Very pretty - rather shaggable, I’d say,” he grins at her not a little cruelly, surprised yet pleased to see her twitch in her seat. “But she scared the piss out of me, I’ll have you know. Here I thought </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>were scary this whole time. She looked like she might murder me on the spot and use me as a toothpick. Violet Evilian was her name.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her eyes widen somewhat. “Violet Evilian,” she repeats a little shakily. “You’re sure?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He frowns, noticing that her occlumency seems to have broken somewhat. Her face has paled considerably and that she has rarely shown more emotion than this in front of him before. “I’m sure. Who is she?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She’s - dangerous. Be cautious around her, Malfoy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on, Granger. You can be more specific than that, can’t you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her jaw clenches and she narrows her eyes at him, and something in his chest flutters.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Granger - fuck. Come on then, just spit it out. If there’s a chance that she’s going to murder me, I should know, shouldn’t I?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She glances down, still frowning. “She’s an assassin, more or less. I don’t have any definitive proof, but she is the one who killed Ron, I know it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He blinks at that in surprise, and has a quick debate on if he wants to ask a follow up question. Although he is somewhat loath to dive back so deeply into her personal life this immediately, he can’t help it and the question tears out of him before he can stop it. “What makes you think that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her eyes flicker up to his and she looks almost vulnerable for just a moment before turning to stone once again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have my reasons.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sets his glass on the counter heavily and brings a hand to his head. “Wonderful. What the fuck are you doing here, Granger? Missed me so much that you wanted to make a house call? I’ve got your little muggle cellular phone contraption, maybe we should stick with that form of communication?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine,” she snaps, rising to leave. “Be sure to use it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As she starts to stride away, he rushes forward and reaches out to grasp her elbow before she can disappear, and she glares at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait, wait,” he says with a sigh. “Look - something strange did happen tonight. There was some sort of incident about a bottle of wine. Blaise nearly had a mental breakdown. Sebek-ari looked like he was going to AK him in the spot. Violet escorted him out, and - well, let’s just say if Blaise doesn’t make it to tea next week I won’t be surprised.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She frowns deeply at that. “What was in the bottle?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wine. We drank it. Seemed normal to me. Zabini seemed to think there was something else in it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She glances at his whiskey tumbler before turning back to him. “Odd...do you know if it was a bottle brought by a guest?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shakes his head. “No, it was elderwine. They store it in a wine cellar. I’ve tried to take a look, but haven’t had much time. The cellar appeared to be warded.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She nods slowly. “That’s very good to know. See what else you can find out about the cellar - if you have a chance to break in, do it. If not, try to figure out what sorts of protective spells there are. If it comes down to it, I can get through them.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right, right. I remember Agatha Vixen cracking wards all the time - mostly to get into old tombs searching for treasure rather than raiding the liquor cabinet, however.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They watch each other for a moment and he hopes that she thinks that the Agatha Vixen bit is still sort of funny. He hates that he wants her to think he’s funny, and he hates that he still wants her at all, and he really, really hates that after she leaves he is going to jerk off thinking about the little faces she would make while she let him make love to her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How - is it going with Astoria?” Her voice is calm, but her eyes are carefully blank - almost too carefully, he thinks, and he almost smiles at that. An ugly part of him wants to think that she has spent the better part of their time away from each other imagining him tangled in bed with another woman.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Quite well,” he replies cautiously. “She was very eager to pick up where we left off. Wouldn’t be surprised if she proposes to me, actually.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her jaw tightens imperceptibly enough that he wouldn’t have noticed at all if not for the months of practice he had in analyzing her micro-reactions back in France. “Good. I’ll be in touch. Contact me on the mobile phone for anything critical. Else, I’ll come to you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She departs without a second glance, and he spends the rest of the night convincing himself that the little hitch in her voice when she asked about Astoria was a manifestation of her jealousy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he sinks into a drunken stupor, he knows that her face will be haunting his dreams.</span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Draco 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Need to meet. Right away.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco sends his little note off into the ether of the cellular phone device as Granger had taught him and waits, checking it nervously every minute or two for a response.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His leg shakes nervously and he wonders how he’ll explain the events of the week to her, and he wonders even more intently how she’ll react.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After another minute, he receives a response with a location and to be there as soon as possible - though not by floo, so as not to be traced so easily.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Less than five minutes later after an apparition and a quick stroll, he finds himself seated in a rather drab looking office with Davies, a scrawny looking man he doesn’t recognize, and Granger, with whom he tries his best not to make eye contact.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nice office, Davies,” he deadpans. “Love the decor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Davies frowns suspiciously at the non-compliment. “Thank you. Mr. Malfoy, meet Mr. Strongbark. He is our ICW liaison working this case with us.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Pleasure,” Strongbark responds tentatively in a mousy voice, not quite living up to his surname.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right,” he agrees, trying to will his leg to stop bouncing around with nervous energy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, Mr. Malfoy? Your message seemed urgent.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right, well - something’s happened.” He keeps his gaze steadfastly on Davies. “Astoria intimated to me at tea this morning that if I don’t propose marriage soon, then she’s likely to end things between us...she, ah, is considering the amount of time we dated the first time, a few years ago.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hadn’t been expecting it. Astoria had picked up his jacket and, not wanting her to fiddle with the cellular phone in its pocket, he had quickly maneuvered to snatch the jacket back from her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Afraid I’ll find a ring in there?” she had asked with a sweet, teasing smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something must have shown on his face, because her expression had fallen into seriousness. He had been hoping to avoid a serious discussion about the status of their relationship at least for several more months until the damned investigation had made some progress, but it quickly became inevitable.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He senses Granger shift in his periphery.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I see...” replies Davies.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I - well, she would like to know before the week is up. I wasn’t sure what guidance the Ministry might have about such a thing, considering that we’ve yet to identify any conclusive evidence of evil-doing.” He stares resolutely ahead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mr. Malfoy, is that - are you willing to consider going that far?” asks Strongbark dubiously with a thin voice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shrugs. “Why not? It’ll be far worse for Astoria than for me, I imagine. Maybe you lot can give me a shiny medal at the end of all this?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you think of all this, Hermione?” asks Davies, frown deepening.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He instantly hates that Davies gets to call her by her first name, and he somewhat desperately waits for her response.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, it sounds like an incredibly useful idea,” she replies coldly, and his heart drops like a rock, settling heavily down in his stomach.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well...” Davies starts to reply.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“May I just ask,” Granger continues, voice sharp. “Did something happen to inspire Astoria to go this far?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He can’t help but turn to look at her. Her face is beautiful and </span>
  <em>
    <span>ice cold</span>
  </em>
  <span> and he wonders what the real Granger behind the indecipherable mask of occlumency is thinking. “No, nothing in particular. She fancies herself in love with me, I suppose.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And she thinks you’re in love with her,” she continues, and he doesn’t fail to notice the ripple in her cheeks as she clenches her jaw.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, she thinks I’m in love with her,” he replies cautiously, watching her closely for any further reaction at all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is </span>
  <em>
    <span>wonderful,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> breathes Strongbark in a nasally voice. “You’d have better access to the house, wouldn’t you? This is beyond what we might’ve hoped for.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So...I should do it then?” he asks, staring heavily at Granger for a moment before turning back to the men.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Davies glances back and forth between Granger and himself for a moment, still frowning, and Draco wonders what he knows. He wonders if Granger had dutifully reported the intimate details of their brief but intense affair. He wonders based on the way Davies looks at her if he has accidentally stumbled into something of a love triangle. He wonders if Granger has ever spread her legs for the bloke, if they’ve fucked on the very desk in front of him and then laughed together about poor little Draco Malfoy and his pathetic attempts to become a spy and his desperate yearning for her approval.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He narrows his eyes at the man and clenches his fist until his nails nearly break his own skin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, do it,” Davies answers somewhat curtly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“One thing,” interrupts Granger, and his stupid little heart soars in anticipation. “Won’t it delay us? After all, it is clearly a - deeply romantic sort of relationship. I expect there will be a honeymoon, yes? If the ritual is set to take place on All Hallow’s Eve as we suspect, we don’t have time to waste on Mr. Malfoy’s romantic getaway with his </span>
  <em>
    <span>wife.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something inside him twitches.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe she doesn’t want him to go through with it after all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her face betrays no emotion.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, perhaps we can try to wrap all this up before anyone has to actually have a wedding anyway, yeah? That’d be nice. But if not, I suppose if I managed to convince her to fall in love with me then I can convince her to take only a short honeymoon,” he offers, mouth curling into an ugly sort of smile offered in her direction.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right,” she replies, staring at him stonily. “Wonderful then.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good,” he agrees curtly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is that all then?” She starts to make for the door, face drawn tightly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah - one other thing,” he continues, even as the gentlemen rise to leave. “The cellar. I had little luck identifying the protective spells in place. It reminded me of a Gringotts vault. Very complex.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Davies leans back in his chair and sighs heavily. He looks over at Granger with thoughtful, respectful eyes. “What do you think, Hermione?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco earnestly wants to punch him in the face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She takes a deep breath, and her eyebrows narrow and form that little pinched ‘v’ that they do whenever she is mentally calculating something. “I’ll need to get into the Estate to have a look...I can arrange to meet Astoria in public this week. She always seemed to like me at Hogwarts, and I expect it won’t be difficult to secure an invitation to the house for tea. Something you might help with, Mr. Malfoy?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A part of him bristles at her calling him ‘Mr. Malfoy’ as if he has never held her closely in the night or been buried deep inside her or become intimately familiar with the way her face contorts while she comes around him. However, an even bigger part of him rejoices at how swiftly she managed to come up with a plan designed to interact with him again, face to face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Miss Granger,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> he replies, and quite immaturely at that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She rolls her eyes at him and he can’t help but grin at how quickly he managed to break through her emotionless facade once again. “This was likely to happen eventually,” she insists.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course, Miss Granger,” he agrees again, grin widening as she glares at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right then,” interrupts Davies, glancing uneasily between the two of them. “Mr. Malfoy, thank you, very much. The Ministry appreciates all that you’re doing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“As does the ICW,” agrees Strongbark with a nervous smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He manages to refrain from rolling his own eyes at that, thinking about how little a choice he has had in any of this so far, but he nods in farewell, with a mild parting glare at Davies. He decides that Granger is far out of the bureaucratic windbag’s league and - despite the fact that she lowered her standards far enough to fuck </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span> - he doubts Davies would have been able to hold her interest long enough for anything serious. He refuses to look at her again on his way out, but he can feel her angry gaze at his back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He steels himself for the prospect of becoming an engaged man, and even more so for the inevitable reunion with Granger. He runs through different scenarios in his mind for how he’ll act upon her approach. Should he smile and hold Astoria’s hand? Ignore Granger entirely and focus on Astoria? Kiss his soon-to-be-fiancée and stare wide-eyed at Granger, watching for a reaction?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He thinks about Astoria, kissing him so sweetly just hours ago, and he feels somewhat sick to his stomach.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he meets with Astoria that evening for dinner, he offers her his most charming smile and declares his intent to propose, and that he has already written to his mother to request a Malfoy family heirloom ring.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her lovely smile and her genuine happiness are based on a lie, his lie, and he feels like an especially awful kind of monster.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria wants to get married as quickly as possible.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Granger makes her move the following Thursday while he is at the Museum of Mythological Magicks for tea with the sisters.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is that - excuse me, isn’t that Hermione Granger?” Daphne asks with an odd look on her face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looks over and frowns deeply, trying to still the thudding of his heart. One wrong reaction in front of Daphne and he thinks he’ll give himself away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looks cold and beautiful.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It rather looks like her, doesn’t it?” Astoria observes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You never fucked her at Hogwarts, did you Draco?” Daphne grins maliciously at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Absolutely not,” he forces himself to scoff and to not think about how when he would nip at her neck, she would gasp and act annoyed at him but she wouldn’t cover up the marks he left behind and he would proudly observe his handiwork while she attempted to lecture him about ancient magical rituals and-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He focuses intently on configuring his face into a scowl.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Astoria asks him to go to her, he puts on his best disgusted visage before starting the long, slow walk across the room. His legs feel colder and heavier with each step he takes, and when she finally looks up at his approach he thinks he sees her eyes flicker as she takes a deep breath, as though bracing herself for battle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She turns to face him and her eyes are cold.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...Hi,” he offers blandly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello,” she agrees, blinking at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They look at each other for a moment, and he wants to throw her against the wall and see her eyes flash and hear her cry out and then snog the daylights out of her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He schools his features to mimic hers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Been looking forward to this, have you?” he asks, lips curling into something like a sneer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looks at him, expressionless. “I’m not sure what you mean.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What, you haven’t missed being able to meddle so effectively in my life? You can’t fool me, Granger. I bet you’ve been desperately plotting this very occasion for weeks.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Ever since I fucked the control right out of you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he adds to himself darkly, smirking at the memory of her arms shaking against the wall with the effort of holding herself up after he let her go.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t be ridiculous,” she replies through pursed lips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Me? I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>never </span>
  </em>
  <span>ridiculous. Astoria asked me to invite you over. You were right - she did like your swotty self back at school, apparently. I can’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>imagine </span>
  </em>
  <span>why.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She nods at that, ignoring his baiting. “Good. Shall we?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He glances back over at the table to see Astoria smiling at them politely, and Daphne wearing a sneer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right,” he sighs heavily as he gestures towards the table, still unsure of how to act like an engaged man with his fiancée around </span>
  <em>
    <span>her.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t forget that we haven’t seen each other in years. I expect you shouldn’t be particularly polite to me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“When am I ever?” He stops himself from grinning at her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her jaw clenches and he keeps his face expressionless but is smiling inside nonetheless at her reaction.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he introduces Granger to the sisters, Daphne sneers, cruel as ever, while Astoria’s eyes light up when she finds out that Granger remembers her. His heart sinks somewhat in his stomach at that, thinking that Astoria is far too kind to deserve this double betrayal she is being set up for.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They make their way stiltedly through introductory conversations. He generally tries to keep his face impassive, not wanting to appear overly interested in what Granger has to say, yet still desperately hanging onto every word that escapes her mouth, searching for double meanings behind her phrases.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When she tentatively pokes fun at his comment about his old bartender’s favorite phrase, he holds back a smile, thinking about telling her that same anecdote once before, in the darkness of a French tavern, while watching the candlelight play across her face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Daphne mentions Weasley, he instinctively grimaces, thinking about Violet Evilian’s presence and what Granger must be dwelling on, but she dismisses the topic deftly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Daphne practically orders him to escort Granger out of the museum, his heart stutters as he rises from his seat. He focuses his attention on Astoria as best he can, leaning in to deliver what ends up being a fairly chaste kiss on the lips. He can feel the gazes of the other two women and he is not sure what to expect Granger’s reaction to be, but he hopes she is simmering with jealousy under those cold, cold eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That wasn’t exactly the most convincing kiss,” she says on their way out. Her jaw is set and her expression is carefully blank.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No? Want to show me how you would’ve done it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her eyes flicker over to him and her jaw clenches, but she doesn’t roll her eyes or sock him in the stomach, so he counts that as a victory.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How goes your quest for the Eye of Ra?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her jaw tightens even further, and he wishes she felt comfortable enough to talk to him about it. She had certainly gotten comfortable back in France, eyes alight with curiosity during their researching. “It’s going well enough.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I might have a lead for you, you know,” he starts, watching her raise an eyebrow dubiously. “I found about a hundred Eyes of Ra in necklace form at the bazaar the other day. Little brats were wearing them and chasing each other about the marketplace. I’m a veritable magiarchaeologist, am I not?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He offers her a grin, and she almost-smiles back before seemingly remembering that she doesn’t laugh at his little jokes anymore.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you think of Daphne?” she asks instead, frowning somewhat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He scoffs at that. “I try not to. What of her?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She didn’t seem suspicious to you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, no, she’s just naturally a bit of a bitch. Always has been.” He pauses for a moment before turning towards her and letting a smirk make its way to his face. He is debating the merits of mentioning Daphne’s little comment, and when she looks at him with a disapproving frown he decides to absolutely broach the subject. “She’s awful and rude, but Astoria adores her. Always has. She hasn’t done or said anything that seems any more fishy than usual to me. I suppose I should tell you that she thinks we - you and I, that is - used to have a bit of a thing back at Hogwarts.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...A thing,” she repeats dubiously, eyebrows rising expectantly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A thing. She asked me if I ever fucked you while we were in school. I suppose she assumed that I did because you were constantly ogling me back then, weren’t you?” His smirk widens.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I certainly never ogled you,” she snaps, blushing somewhat, and he is pleased that she seems less committed to maintaining her cold facade behind layers of occlumency this time around. “If I ever looked at you, it was because you were acting suspiciously.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Clearly you were a terrible child spy if Daphne caught you. I certainly hope you’ve improved since then.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He catches her eye and her lips quirk into that almost-smile again. He thinks that is will only be a matter of time before he can convince her to fall back into bed with him, except-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Except-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Except he is engaged to be married.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As if reading his mind, her eyes seem to flicker down to the ring on his hand and her hard expression sets into place. “In any case, be cautious around Daphne. Something about how she fits into all of this doesn’t sit right with me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He waves her off. “Fine, fine. I’ll be cautious. Though I’m already being cautious around her father, and Sebek-ari, and Violet Evilian. And </span>
  <em>
    <span>you,</span>
  </em>
  <span> of course. Anyone else you’d like to add to the list?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She rolls her eyes at him in that familiar manner of hers. “No. I’ll see you at tea. I am going to encourage this friendship with - </span>
  <em>
    <span>your fianceé</span>
  </em>
  <span> - at least until I can see the cellar. Contact me on the cell phone if you need anything before then.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I need you,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thinks sadly to himself as they arrive at the museum entrance.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She stares at him heavily for a moment and the air seems to crackle and spark between them until she swiftly turns on her heels and departs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They see each other sporadically after that. They take tea with Astoria and occasionally Daphne, and he studiously pretends to dislike her when all he wants to really do is try his best to make her lips twitch into a smile. They rarely find themselves alone, and even more rarely are able to disappear to investigate the Estate wards. Their communications are largely restricted to voiceless plotting over the cellular phones.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Whenever they are together, Daphne seems to watch them both quite closely.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>True to her word, Granger continues to cultivate something like an actual friendship with Astoria. He receives little updates from his fianceé that he clings to desperately (“Hermione and I went to The Happy Troll today for a drink, you know, it was such fun,” “I introduced Hermione to Lady Ouaphres today, she made quite a nice impression,” “I may invite Hermione to the nundu race next week, what do you think?”). He cringes inwardly while attempting to respond as unenthusiastically as he can, though he does try to subtly encourage Astoria to invite her over to the Estate more often.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Every day that passes brings his unwanted nuptials closer and closer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A part of him is holding out hope that Granger will be able to break into the cellar, solve the mystery, and stop the ridiculous cult before he is required to go through with the wedding, but every day he wakes up with his heart beating more and more anxiously in his chest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One day at tea with the three women, they are interrupted by the Greengrass patriarch and his business partners, Sebek-ari, Danny Kershaw, and Violet Evilian.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He observes the introductions silently, glaring at Kershaw’s genial greeting and Granger’s politely civil response. He breathes slowly, focusing on the expansion and contraction of his lungs as Violet steps forward with a fairly menacingly smile on her beautiful face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For a moment, he wonders if Violet knows that Hermione is very much aware that she is the one responsible for Weasley’s death. He thinks that she must be ignorant, else she would be running for the hills rather than standing there in silent mocking.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wondering if Granger is thinking about Weasley, he watches her closely for any sort of emotion in her expression. The others in the room seem to be watching closely as well, as though they can feel the tension. The air feels crisp and almost crackling with magical energy, and for a brief moment he imagines the parlour exploding in a slew of violent spells.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Granger’s face remains impassive, but he sees a familiar fire lingering behind her eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nice to meet you,” she replies eventually, and he wonders how much it is costing her to remain calm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He lets out a shaky breath when neither woman draws their wand and the introduction fizzles quietly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My apologies to you both, Draco, Miss Granger, but I need to borrow my daughters for a few moments. Girls?” Mr Greengrass grins and gestures to the doorway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Might Draco come as well?” Astoria asks almost shyly, and he turns to her in faint surprise. It would solve a lot of his problems if they would just bring him right along to the cellar, certainly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mr. Greengrass smiles pleasantly in his direction. “Only the family for now. But, soon enough, eh Draco?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Not if Granger saves me from this,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thinks as he inclines his head with a smile in return.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He can feel her gaze upon him as the others depart the room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She immediately stands as the door shuts, looking far more shaken than he has ever seen her, and speaks in a hushed voice. “They might be going to the cellar. I’m going to follow them.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He is sure that the encounter with Weasley’s murderer has her entirely off-kilter as he takes in her widened eyes and shaky breathing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He moves to block her path to the door. “Are you mad, Granger? With Violet there? </span>
  <em>
    <span>And</span>
  </em>
  <span> Sebek-ari? They won’t hesitate to kill you, you know that! Just - wait a little longer, once they’re gone we can try again, yeah?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m going </span>
  <em>
    <span>now.</span>
  </em>
  <span> With any luck I’ll be able to identify the protective spells being used as they’re taken down. Get out of my way, Malfoy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She sets her face firmly, shoving past him and taking out her wand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hermione - fuck. Alright fine, but I’m going with you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She freezes and turns back to him with an intense frown. “Now </span>
  <em>
    <span>you’re</span>
  </em>
  <span> mad. This is my job, and I’m quite good at it. You stay here. If they come back and find us both gone it will be suspicious. If they come back before I do, just tell them I’ve left and we’ll reconvene tomorrow.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He takes a step forward and only stops when she reaches out and places her hand on his chest. He stills at her touch, wondering if she can feel the heavy thudding of his heartbeat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stay here, Draco,” she whispers, eyes flashing with - something. “Please. Trust me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stares almost desperately into her earnest eyes, and he knows he can hardly refuse her. He starts to instinctively reach up to take a hold of her hand before he twitches and shoves the offending appendage into his pocket. “Fine. Be careful.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A brief, faint smile flickers onto her face before she casts a disillusionment charm and departs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The warmth of her hand on his chest fades, and as the door clicks shut he feels intensely alone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He paces the room nervously, straining his ears for any information to glean, but every creak of the old house makes his heart pound heavily.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As the minutes tick by, he starts to imagine what could possibly be going on.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He imagines Sebek-ari seeing through her disillusion and locking her in the cellar under a mountain of wards, never to be seen again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He imagines Violet Evilian sneaking up on her and stabbing her through the heart with a dagger.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He imagines Daphne sneeringly casting the killing curse as Astoria looks on, wide-eyed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“This is my job, and I’m quite good at it,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> she had said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’ll be fine.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’ll be fine.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’ll be </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He grabs a book to try and distract himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’ll be fine.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He reads the same paragraph three fruitless times.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’ll be fine.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The door opens and he has to will his body to stay calm and not jerk about nervously.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria walks in looking somewhat anxious. “Where’s Hermione?” she asks, glancing around the room uncertainly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He lets out a heavy sigh of relief. If Astoria is asking, that means that Granger managed to escape detection. He hopes that she managed to find something out, and that his near heart attack in her absence was worth it.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Draco 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Draco’s dream of getting rescued from going through with a sham wedding vanishes with little fanfare.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Granger, after a bit of research, had indeed learned some useful information about the wards, including the additional fact that Astoria is in possession of a physical key required to open it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’ll need to steal it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In some sort of coordinated effort, he’ll need to steal the key, meet up with Granger to time-consumingly disarm the protections on the cellar, investigate the damned place, and then return the key with Astoria none the wiser. He’ll need to accompany Granger because more likely than not, some of the protective spells would be keyed to a resident of the Estate.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He meets Granger at an inconspicuous bench near the bazaar, and is devastated to find her somewhat stumped.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s too risky to try when none of the Greengrasses are present,” she observes with a frown. “These old estates are quite particular about who is allowed on the grounds when the family is not present. I expect I’d be revealed nearly instantly.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe we could try at tea tomorrow?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One week before his hastily planned wedding.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She sighs heavily. “Maybe.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He knows that she is thinking of the countless other times they’ve taken tea and had no opportunity whatsoever to disappear together for a bit of espionage, and his heart sinks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He might </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually</span>
  </em>
  <span> have to get married.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tea comes and goes with the same lack of results, and for a moment he catches her eyes and they are full of dread.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They meet at their bench once again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe - we can try once more before this wedding, can’t we?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I-” she stutters. “I don’t know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Granger...”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Tell me not to do it, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he mentally pleads with her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You could tell me not to marry her. Tell me you want me, tell me to be yours and I will, I’ll do anything for you if you’ll let me, just tell me-</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’ll need a distraction. Perhaps you can convince her to throw a party. See to it that I’m invited, and we can make our way to the cellar during the revelry. We - can try after your honeymoon,” she says coldly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stares at her for a long moment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She doesn’t make eye contact with him again before she departs, leaving him with a cavernous hole in his heart.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of course she wouldn’t stop him. She hates him. He doesn’t know how he lets himself forget how much she hates him, and that she will hate him forever.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He struggles to summon up the energy to hate her back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His wedding day comes and goes in a blur. Few individual moments stand out to him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His own parents do not attend. Even though it is a fake wedding and it is all partially for their benefit, not to mention the fact that he had more or less told them not to come, it still stings somewhat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria looks so beautiful and innocent and loving that his heart aches for her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shakes his father-in-law’s hand vigorously.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sebek-ari watches him intently.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne’s eyes are bright with malevolence.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He kisses Astoria chastly, and drowns out the cheers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Golden doves dance through the air.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Floating violins play a sweet, romantic tune.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Granger-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Granger, Granger, Granger.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She is </span>
  <em>
    <span>there</span>
  </em>
  <span> and her eyes are cold and her face is blank but when she smiles and congratulates the happy couple he could swear her jaw trembles almost imperceptibly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He smiles, wrenching his lips into a look as cold as her own, and shakes her hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She tears her eyes from his and walks away. He spends the rest of the night attempting to focus on his beautiful, blushing bride and certainly not glaring at any bloke who attempts to engage Granger in conversation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His honeymoon passes quickly. It is easy enough to convince Astoria to shorten the trip and return to Egypt. He smiles and kisses her and acts the part of a loving new husband.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Each time they make love, he feels as though he is breathing in brimstone as he digs himself a special place in the depths of hell. He imagines that this is what it feels like to be bound to an ifrit - burning up slowly from the inside in a fiery inferno.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Upon their return, he is disheartened to discover that he has become no more privy to any Greengrass family secrets than he had been before, despite Astoria’s intimations that he would be. He isn’t entirely sure why, but he continues to put on a smiling face with the family and learn what he can. With progress continuing to stall as All Hallow’s Eve draws nearer and nearer, he decides to concentrate his attention on his task of securing Granger an invitation to the Estate on an evening when there will be enough of a distraction to escape unseen to the cellar.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Encouraging Astoria to host an Equinox party is simple, and she certainly seems enthusiastic about the concept. Sneeringly asking about Granger’s invite yields a tentative agreement.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Draco,” Astoria starts hesitantly, tears springing to her beautiful eyes. “Sometimes - you’ll think this is absurd, but sometimes I think that she - well, I think she might have some sort of feelings for you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He blinks at that, not even having to fake a harsh laugh. Feelings! Awful feelings, perhaps. She hates him. Sure, she let him fuck her for a time, but she hates him, and she always has, and she always will. He tells Astoria as such, minus the part about how he used to make love to her and he still dreams about it and he hates himself for everything.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t mention the fact that despite his best attempts, he seems entirely unable to hate her in return anymore.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria struggles to hold back a sob. “You might not see it, but it’s the way she’s always </span>
  <em>
    <span>looking</span>
  </em>
  <span> at you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wants to scoff at that, not wanting to let Astoria of all people get his hopes up about Granger’s fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>feelings.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The evening of the party arrives, and he feels like a bundle of exposed nerves bracing himself for an inevitable, deeply painful impact.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nicking the key before the party is a simple exercise of waiting for the wine to be brought up during the preparations, watching for Astoria to place her clutch with her keychain down for a moment while getting ready, and realizing that the key is resistant to magic so having to change plans and plucking it off the chain while she isn’t looking.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s fairly smooth. He thinks there is enough wine to last the evening. If there isn’t, Astoria will discover that she is keyless and probably send Violet Evilian to murder him in a fantastically painful fashion.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In advance of the party, he takes a slow, deep breath and attempts to calm his nerves.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He spots Granger immediately from across the room and forces himself not to stare. It is the first time he has seen her since his wedding day, as the plan has largely been communicated via cellular phone messages. The plan is somewhat vague, in that it simply involves waiting until the two of them can disappear to the cellar without anyone noticing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Astoria mentions setting Danny Sodding Kershaw up with Granger, he is nearly unable to stop himself from scoffing. Danny Kershaw! He wants to walk over and punch the twat in the stomach until the wanker vomits, just like how Granger had taught him during their training sessions in France.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He glances over at Granger, and feels as though she must have cast some spell to steal the breath directly from his lungs. She looks - beautiful. Her hair is done up prettily, and she is wearing a light blue dress. It triggers a faintly repressed memory from the Yule Ball at Hogwarts, so long ago, and he has to force himself to look away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He snaps his eyes back to Astoria instantly. “What I mean to say is, I like Danny well enough. He’s a decent bloke. He doesn’t deserve to have to put up with that harpy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Draco-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know, I know,” he offers a sigh as dramatically as he can. “She’s your friend, and I promised I’d be nicer. Well, come on then. Shall we go flaunt our happy marriage in front of her?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Astoria leans into him and tightens her grasp on his arm, he wonders for a moment if she has actually seen something in Granger’s interactions with him to make her nervous.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hopes not, because it will certainly complicate their mission, but at the same time he dearly, dearly hopes so.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shakes his head to clear it of that ridiculous hopeful feeling, and as they approach her she looks up with cold, cold eyes and he tries to think of something nasty to say.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Drinking all of our good wine, are you Granger?” he starts with a little sneer, watching for a reaction.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She blinks and narrows her eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We have plenty more in the cellar,” Astoria offers vaguely.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still feeling nasty, he spots Danny Sodding Kershaw across the room and laughingly brings the lad up, watching her face closely.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My dearest wife seems to think that you and Mr. Kershaw might hit it off, </span>
  <em>
    <span>romantically.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Does she?” Granger replies blandly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I told her I didn’t think so.” He smirks at her, feeling excessively confident and wanting to watch her squirm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why is that, Malfoy?” He sees something angry flicker behind her eyes, and he yearns to see that fire once more.</span>
  <span></span><br/>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Because you don’t want him, you want me.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It was just a passing fancy of a thought,” Astoria intercedes blushingly. “I just thought you might like to get to know one another, that’s all.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Granger stares at him heavily for a moment before turning back to his wife. “I might like that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He blinks at that. Danny Kershaw! She would stomp all over the man’s academic little heart. “Might you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She turns back and holds his gaze challengingly. “I might.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The grumpy house-elf whose name he can never remember interrupts to steal Astoria away, and he waits until she is out of earshot before continuing the discussion.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before he can come up with something clever, she raises a clearly annoyed eyebrow at him. “You’re in a fine mood this evening, aren’t you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wants to shake her. “Yes, well, married life has been treating me well. Also, I’d love to get this over with so I don’t get murdered tonight, what do you say?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Astoria is still watching us,” she replies, voice low. “She seems rather possessive of you tonight.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Not as possessive as I apparently feel about you,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he can’t help but think of his deep, dark urge to punch Danny Kershaw in his punchable face for the mere offense of being hypothetically paired with her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, well, can you blame her for that?  Lady Ouaphres has been pining after me, you know. I’m quite a catch,” he smiles wryly. “So - what then, should we separate for now and try again in half an hour? Let’s cross our fingers that Astoria doesn’t feel an urge to check her keychain while we wait, eh?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hush, Danny’s coming over.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh how </span>
  <em>
    <span>lovely,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> he snaps. “Shall I give you some privacy? Though I must say, I expect he won’t have to work too hard to stick you - it’s been a while for you, hasn’t it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He regrets the words even before they leave his mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You-! You’re absurd,” she mutters with a violent glare before plastering an obviously fake smile on her face as Danny Fucking Kershaw approaches them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Malfoy, good man!” greets Danny quite cuntily, reaching over the shake his hand before turning to Granger. “And - Hermione, a pleasure as always.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Danny, hello,” she greets, mouth twitching upwards into something resembling an actual smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He decides that he is nowhere near drunk enough to watch Granger flirt with fucking Danny Kershaw on a night where he might literally get himself murdered on her behalf. His heart thuds in his chest, and he tries to convince himself that it is nerves rather than a deep-seated rage.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think I see Ashraf Bata calling me,” he improvises. “Nice to see you, Kershaw. Granger - a pleasure, as always.” He looks at her pointedly and can practically feel her roll her eyes as he stalks away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He grabs himself another drink and scowls.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Draco!” greets Ashraf. “How’ve you been? Has Astoria managed to convince you to join my quidditch league yet?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The last thing he wants to do is catch up with Ashraf about quidditch of all things, but he forces himself to grin and endure the conversation, all the while staring down the conversation he had grumpily vacated.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Granger reaches up and touches Danny’s arm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He squeezes his tumbler tightly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She glances over in his direction under hooded eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He answers a question from Ashraf and continues to glower at her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looks back to fucking Kershaw and she smiles warmly. Smiles! She smiles and simpers at the idiot while he ignores Ashraf and grinds his teeth and seethes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He excuses himself from a perplexed looking Ashraf, tosses his firewhiskey back and procures another.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After one more drink ostensibly to calm his nerves, he glances around and sees Kershaw with his stupid fucking face amiably chatting with some bloke from the Egyptian quidditch team.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He darts his eyes around the room and finds her quickly. She is alone, and he doesn’t see Astoria anywhere nearby. He makes eye contact and jerks his head towards the stairs leading to the cellar, and she rolls her eyes at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You are terrible at this,” she whispers angrily as they descend down the stairs quickly. “Don’t you remember anything I taught you? The idea is </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> to draw attention. Everyone in the bloody room must have seen you staring at me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, I highly doubt anyone was looking at me. Everyone in the bloody room must have been watching you throwing yourself at that idiot Kershaw like a two bit whore,” he snaps back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looks at him almost laughingly for a moment before rolling her eyes yet again as they hurry down the hallway. She casts a quick spell to muffle the sounds of their footsteps echoing down the corridor. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous, Malfoy?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Of course I’m fucking jealous,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he snarls in his mind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course I’m not jealous,” he huffs instead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm,” is her only response.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Besides - I’m not a fucking spy!” he continues grumpily in a lower voice. “If I get murdered for being a terrible spy, it’s probably your fault for being a terrible trainer.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They approach the door leading to the cellar and observe it for a moment. It is faintly thrumming with magical energy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re not wrong, I suppose. Be quiet for a moment,” she mutters, withdrawing her wand and taking a step towards the door with wide eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His body is shaking with nervous energy as he watches her whisper quick incantations at the cellar door. Unfamiliar, glowing runes appear rapidly in front of them, ghosting in the air, and he hopes that she is able to make some sense of it because he is at a loss to decipher their meaning. His ears strain, body jerking at every imagined noise, and the sounds of the party echo and reverberate through his mind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He vaguely thinks that he could use another damned drink, and a sturdy one at that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She appears intensely focused, eyes narrowed and darting over the runes as they appear, muttering more spells, presumably to help detect whatever protective spells have been cast over the room. As she flicks her wrist expertly, he wants to ask her so many questions about the process, or make yet another hilarious Agatha Vixen joke, but his voice is caught in his throat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He imagines what will happen if they get caught in the act. Daphne would probably watch on and laugh while Violet Evilian guts him like an angelfish.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Granger turns to him with her most serious expression on her face. He wants to take her by the hand and apparate all the way back to France and yell at her for flirting with fucking Danny Kershaw and he wants to spend all day in bed with her and </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> find himself getting murdered by Sebek-Ari and Violet Evilian and her terrifying purple eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As if sensing his unease, she offers him the slightest twitch of a sympathetic smile, and the knot pitted in the depths of his stomach unravels somewhat. Based upon his expertise at analyzing her emotional responses, she may as well have held his hand, given him a comforting hug and told him everything was going to be fine.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“These are fairly complex protective spells, but nothing I can’t handle. The tricky part will be re-casting once we’re done. I’m going to take them down now, so get ready with the key. It appears to be warded such that only a resident of the estate can use it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He nods shakily, reaching into his pocket. The metal of the key feels cold against his skin. “Good thing I got married and moved in then, I suppose.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She ignores that and begins casting spells in rapid succession, far more complex than anything they learned at school, surely. He wonders where she managed to pick up the skills - presumably from a dusty old book. He can feel the hum of magic in the air, and the thickness of it does nothing to ease his nerves. The door begins to emit a faintly purple glow, reflecting brightly through the hallway. He glances around the hallway nervously, thankful to confirm that they are still quite alone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” she breathes after a moment with a frown as the aura surrounding the door begins to fade. “I think that should do it. Try the key now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>think</span>
  </em>
  <span> that should do it? You’re inspiring so much confidence in me, Granger,” he grimaces, though he does step forward towards the door. “What’s the worst thing that could happen by shoving a magical key into a freshly dewarded lock?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I read a case study about a wizard who got teleported into the middle of the Pacific Ocean in a similar situation,” she offers with something like a wry smile. “All of his clothing turned purple as well.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He cringes. “Lovely. If we survive this party, remind me to tell you the joke I’m preparing. Something about how wet you’ll get from diving into the ocean to rescue me, eh?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He is sure that she is rolling his eyes, but he cannot see them to confirm. He screws his own eyes tightly shut as he holds his breath, shoves the key into the keyhole and turns it, hearing it latch onto the metal prongs inside.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He holds it there for a moment, waiting, eyes still squeezed tightly shut. The loudest noise he hears is the drumming of his heart in his chest and the slow exhale of his own breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Draco,” Granger whispers from beside him. She gently reaches out to touch his shaking hand, and together they push the door open. Neither of them get teleported to the ocean, and the rest of his breath leaves his lungs in a relieved expulsion.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She withdraws her hand from his and casts a quick wand-lighting charm before charging forward into the dark cellar.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The heat from where her fingertips touched his hand lingers, and he sighs heavily before following her in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He notices an odd coldness permeating the room, and he is about to observe this fact aloud to Granger when suddenly-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The light from her wand extinguishes itself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He can feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand to attention.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hisses out a curse word in front of him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He takes his own wand out hastily.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Lumos.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nothing happens.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He feels his stomach coil tightly inside of him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Granger, what-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hears her rummaging through her purse in front of him. “Do you feel that in the air? The walls are probably made from dimeritium. It has a magic-dampening effect. Very rare. They use it to construct the most highly secure vaults at Gringotts.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Helpful, Granger, really. I’ll remember that for Gringotts-themed trivia night at the pub. Please tell me you somehow managed to fit a lantern in that little purse of yours?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I - did, yes, here it is.” He blinks despite the darkness in surprise as she shoves an actual lantern into his chest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You-” he trails off, faintly stunned and as simultaneously annoyed and impressed with her as ever. “You did, really? How-? Please don’t tell me you transfigured that ugly satchel of yours into an even uglier purse for the evening.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Undetectable extension charm on the purse, which is not ugly,” she explains quickly, likely shooting him a glare in the darkness. “And - ah, good, here’s my lighter. Might’ve brought a damned flashlight, but anything operated by battery tends to be unreliable at best around these types of wards.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She flicks the lighter on as she speaks in a low voice and brings it to the candle inside the lantern in his grasp.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The candlelight dances on the sharp angles of her face and he thinks she looks strikingly beautiful.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He clears his throat. “You just carry lanterns around in your fancy, extension-charm laden purse to every party you go to, eh?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It is still quite dark in the room, but he would swear that she blushes faintly. “Only parties where I expect to break into heavily warded cellars. It happens more often than you would expect. I bet Danny would be impressed, don’t you think? Maybe I’ll show him when we go out for drinks next week.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She smirks at him. Smirks! He curls his lip in disgust. “You’re not serious, are you? With </span>
  <em>
    <span>him?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m always serious. Let’s look around,” she continues quickly. “There, see that? Elderwine bottles.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He glances around the room, holding the lantern up high. It has a far too menacing aura for something that looks rather like a benign wine cellar. There are racks lining the walls filled with various wine bottles of all sorts. One of the cabinets has a rather ominous looking knife on a display. He follows her towards the familiar looking elderwine bottles in front of them and tries not to dwell on her future date with Danny Sodding Kershaw.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She takes a bottle gingerly into her hands with a frown, swirling the bottle in the air. After a moment, she replaces it and picks up the bottle next to it, frowning far more deeply.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This one - it feels </span>
  <em>
    <span>warm.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Everything must feel warm to someone as cold as you,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he wants to say.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She touches several more bottles with the back of her hand before picking one up to shake it slightly. “Looks like it’s the 1997 vintage. They’re all warm to touch, and they don’t seem to have liquid in them. Perhaps that’s why Zabini was panicking - he thought they brought out one of these bottles at the party?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His ears continue to strain, listening for footsteps from the hallway as he wills her to hurry up with her investigation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t suppose you have a corkscrew in that bag of yours?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shakes her head sharply. “No. And I expect they’ll notice if I smuggle one out and they’re short an entire bottle next time they check.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He overcomes his near desperate urge to whip out his wand and helplessly cast spell after spell into the void of the awful, magic-less room. “Probably shouldn’t smash it either, eh? Look, I saw a knife over there on that cabinet. Maybe we can open the bottle with that, then replace the cork? And then we can get </span>
  <em>
    <span>the fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> out of this place, yeah? It’s creepy down here, I very much dislike it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She follows him further into the horrible cellar, and rushes ahead of him to the cabinet. The knife he had seen is displayed proudly on a stand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sees her jaw drop in surprise as she tentatively reaches out to take a hold of the knife. Startled at seeing the odd look of reverence on her face, he peers at the knife more closely.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the candlelight, he guesses the knife is probably silver, and it has something of an unnatural glow to it. It feels deeply wrong to him, like a violation of the laws of magic, and it fairly </span>
  <em>
    <span>growls</span>
  </em>
  <span> at them. The hilt is a deep, dark black etched with gold lining, while the blade itself is etched with blood-red runes. He gapes at the knife with Granger, feeling his blood curdle somewhat and the unease knotting itself in his stomach once again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The knife smells like death.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s a runeknife,” he breathes in awe.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, it appears to be. I’m surprised you recognize it.” She glances at him and quirks an eyebrow as she reaches for the awful thing. He holds his breath as her fingers make contact with the hilt, and he is almost surprised it doesn’t combust as she maneuvers it to the cork of the wine bottle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I - well, I didn’t sleep through all of your lessons, did I? I remember you lecturing me about runeknives for what felt like </span>
  <em>
    <span>hours,</span>
  </em>
  <span> you know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He thinks he sees something of a sparkle in her eyes and he tries to convince his heart to go back to violently thudding for fear of getting caught, rather than out of excitement from the barest hint of her approval.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do the runes mean? They’re different for each knife, aren’t they? Can’t say I’ve ever seen anything like that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She twists the knife. “I don’t know. Some of these look like hieroglyphs. I’ll need to research this - it may give us a clue about the nature of the ritual.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With a slight pop, the cork comes off. A wisp of bright red dust escapes the bottle in a rush, floating through the air and falling to their feet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This definitely looks like it,” she exhales heavily, eyeing the vermillion powder in the bottle with a thoughtful look on her face. She adds a small amount to a vial, dug up from her treasure trove of a purse. “Roger will get the alchemists to validate, but I’m almost sure this is it. Orichalcum powder.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He can hear faint noises of happy revelers from the party fluttering through the air.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wonderful. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Roger </span>
  </em>
  <span>is just wonderful, isn’t he? You have far too many boyfriends in this country, you know. Drinks with Kershaw. Kershaw! Fuck, can we leave now?” he asks, shifting nervously. He starts to cast a spell to banish the fallen dust, but remembers with dread that he can’t. His inability to cast magic in this strange cellar causes his anxiety levels to shoot up dramatically higher with every passing second. Instead, as she makes a few small cuts to the cork before replacing the knife, he kicks the dust as well as he can manage under the cabinet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She nods, though he catches her eyes lingering on the runic knife.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Leave that thing here, Granger. They’ll clearly notice if it’s gone, won’t they?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She nods again, but she shoves the bottle of wine at him and is digging through her bag once again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shifts impatiently as he recorks the bottle of wine, eyeing the doorway warily. He mentally calculates how long they have been away from the party. Considering they still need to get out of the damned room and recast the wards, it’s only a matter of time before Astoria - </span>
  <em>
    <span>his wife</span>
  </em>
  <span> - notices that they are both missing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her hand emerges with a camera and she snaps a couple quick photos of both sides of the knife before returning it to its proper place.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“For Merlin’s sake, what don’t you have in that fucking purse?” he mutters. “Okay, can we get out of here now?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She nods, and they do.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They put the elderwine bottle back and hide the evidence of their visit to the room as best they can. They rush to the door, and he shoves the key into the keyhole once more. As he finishes locking the door, he waits nervously while she carefully recasts the warding spells. Her eyes are intensely focused and oh Merlin, he feels something ache in his chest when he watches her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When she casts the final spell, muttering an incantation with an absurdly complicated wand flourish, she spins around and nods at him. He nods back intently and starts back up the stairs, but-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He freezes and she nearly crashes into his back. He holds out an arm to steady her and gestures at the approaching shadow before she has time to glare at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her eyes widen as she sees it and she reacts immediately, grabbing his arm and nearly dragging him down the hallway towards the glass doors leading to the garden. They just barely make it through as they hear the click of heels reverberating through the hallway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck,” he mutters glancing quickly through the doorway and seeing a familiar silhouette. Hermione is nearly pressed against him by the wall, but they are clearly visible through the tall glass panes. “It’s Astoria - I think she saw us. Too late for a disillusion.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Granger grimaces and looks at him, seeming more unsettled than she has since all that time ago when she used to wear a vulnerable face in the mornings while they made love.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Draco - I’m going to kiss you now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He blinks at her, dumbstruck and heart strumming maddeningly in his chest. Her eyes are wide and darting all over his face as if she’s nervous. “What- you’re mad! She’ll think-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She’ll think what I want her to think, and she won’t go down to the cellar. Okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hears the click of Astoria’s heels and as he opens his mouth to protest, Hermione closes the infinitesimal gap between them and when her lips crash warm against his, he very nearly groans with the assault on his memories. Her hand moves to rest on his shoulder, and oh she tastes even better than he remembered. Sweet, with just a hint of wine on her breath, and he wants to drown in her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She breaks the kiss for only a moment and her eyes flutter open, and they are the eyes he dreams about. They are burning for him instead of freezing him out, and he holds her arms tightly, resting his forehead against hers and never wanting to let her go.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Hermione...”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She kisses him again, gently running her tongue along his lips, and he pulls her closer. Inwardly, he knows it’s all a show for Astoria’s benefit, but his heart is making a desperate bid to escape from its cage and he can’t help but wonder how she could possibly be faking </span>
  <em>
    <span>this.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Draco,” she whispers sadly against his lips. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Draco...”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He catches </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span> in her voice as she brushes her lips along his jawline, and he tilts his head, opening his mouth to kiss her deeply. Their tongues tangle together and a breathy noise escapes from the back of her throat, but-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His wife’s slow approach tries to yank him back to reality, but he would almost rather stay here forever, entwined with Hermione Granger even should it be the death of him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now - push me away,” she whispers hurriedly. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Now, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Draco.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He groans desperately when their lips part, and he is instantly, depressingly aware that he loves her as much as he used to in the twilight of morning in their isolated little cottage safehouse. His hands are shaking as he places them on her shoulders and gently shoves her away. She pulls back exaggeratedly, but she is watching him and her eyes are wide and desperate and blazing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria opens the door and steps into the garden. She is watching them with watery eyes and he inhales shakily, feeling deeply like an irredeemable bastard.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Granger, for her part, looks more devastated than he has ever seen, and eyes Astoria warily. He is sure that she is acting, always the spy, and he licks his lips and tastes her and follows suit, screwing his face tightly and clenching his jaw.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m - sorry to intrude on a private moment,” Astoria says, shakily enough to make him ache for her. Surely, nobody deserves the hell he is inflicting upon her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s play-acting, he tells himself. Granger is commitedly playing the femme fatale, he the wavering husband, and poor Astoria doesn’t even realize that she is in the audience.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His voice is husky as he attempts to sound harsh. “She’s been drinking. Go home, Granger.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Drunk, is she?” Astoria asks, voice quiet and stifling tears. “She brought you here at wand point, did she?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She threatened to cause a scene upstairs if I didn’t come along,” he improvises, focusing on some spot in the distance so as not to gaze desperately at one of the women, or sorrowfully at the other.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hermione...” Astoria’s voice cracks somewhat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m - sorry,” Granger says quietly, face frozen but voice wavering slightly. He can tell she is attempting occlumency again, but having a difficult time of it. “Your husband is right, I - I’ve had too much to drink tonight, I’m afraid. It’s not his fault. I’ll go, now. I’m - truly sorry, Astoria.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He thinks that Astoria had truly considered them friends, and wonders if Granger had actually felt the same, and oh, she deserves to burn together with him for this.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Get out of here, Granger,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> he tries to snarl, vaguely recalling his earlier attempt at hatred but his chest aches with how desperately he wants her to stay.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She takes a deep breath, or more of a gasp, before nodding and departing through the glass doors in haste.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He can’t help but stare after her and try to keep the desperate longing out of his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Draco...”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He cringes and turns back to Astoria - </span>
  <em>
    <span>his wife</span>
  </em>
  <span> - and searches for the right words. He nearly laughs bitterly as he spouts them. “Astoria - I’m sorry. I really am. I - well, you were right about her having some - feelings, I suppose.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You kissed her,” Astoria observes blankly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t want to,” he lies. He has a feeling that she believes him and it makes him sick to his stomach. He reaches towards her slowly, hands moving on their own volition to accomplish the mission that his mind seems intent on failing. She nearly falls into his arms. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, and he means it in so many ways. “I’m so sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She doesn’t know.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We should go back to the party,” she answers with a slight hitch to her voice. “I’m sure we’re missed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He kisses her once again and accompanies her upstairs, past the door leading to the cellar. He lets out a sharp sigh of relief as they ignore the door entirely, and he thinks that he may yet get through the night.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She doesn’t know.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He tries to casually keep an eye on Astoria throughout the evening, and he is almost sure that she doesn’t depart for the cellar before the guests depart. He almost has a heart attack upon seeing how low the supply of wine is getting, but with the party nearing its end, apparently the guests are content with firewhiskey or champagne for toasts.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s going to make it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he joins her in their bedroom at the end of the evening, she looks so vulnerable, and it is all he can do to kiss her gently and try his best to assure her that the kiss (the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking</span>
  </em>
  <span> kiss) was just a mistake. He feels desperately ill when he makes love to her, and he tries not to think about Granger’s lips pressed so fiercely against his own, and he thinks that maybe he should just let them summon the ifrit so it can breathe its fire all over him until he is nothing but a charred husk.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he is sure she is asleep, he quietly makes his way to her clutch resting on the dresser and secures the cellar key in its proper place. He sends a quick message on the cell phone to - </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span> - to inform her that he is still alive. He lets out a shaky breath, nearly overwhelmed with relief as he returns to the bed and sinks into an uneasy sleep.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria doesn’t know.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Draco 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Darkness surrounds him, billowing waves of charred ashes swarming his vision, getting breathed into his lungs as he runs. Runs far, runs fast, runs </span>
  <em>
    <span>away,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but every which way he turns they’re watching him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Blood red eyes that make the bile in his stomach curdle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looks around desperately for his mother, but she is gone, only the snake is there. The giant, man-eating snake with the flickering tongue that swells in the darkness. The snake is feasting on something. Someone. A woman, and she’s crying as it devours her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For a stuttering moment he thinks it’s Astoria, but before he can rush forward to save her, it’s too late - Astoria is already sitting at his side, regarding him curiously.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A heartrending cry echoes from the belly of the snake, but he doesn’t know who it could be.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne is there, directly behind the creature, conducting it as if the maestro of a grand orchestra. With every wave of her wand through the air, a scream slices through the air, and the snake swallows just a little more, and suddenly he knows who is there. He knows those screams, those cries for help. He has heard them before. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows her,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but Astoria squeezes at his hand desperately.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione cries his name from the belly of the beast, and as he wrenches free of his wife’s grasp in order to run to her, he realizes he can’t move. He’s entirely paralyzed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He</span>
  </em>
  <span> is trapped within the gaping mouth of the snake, which is ready to devour him as a stingingly hot fire roars around him. He gazes in horror at Hermione, the only precious thing left in the darkness, and she looks around curiously the fire closes in. Seeming to notice him there, terrified and struggling to breathe, she starts to move towards him.</span>
</p>
<p>
<em>Don’t help me,</em> he cries in her direction. <em>It’s dangerous here. I’m - not worth it.</em>
</p>
<p>She hesitates.</p>
<p>
  <span>As he chokes and gasps for air, he finds himself wondering if she’ll come to him, or if she’ll stand there and simply watch him burn.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She raises her eyes to his, and-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He vomits up bile when he rolls out of bed in the morning and desperately shrugs off the nightmare, trying to remember exactly how much he had to drink the night before. He allows himself one disgusted shudder before reminding himself that dreams are silly, as he constantly tries to convince Astoria, but as he dresses he can’t shake the feeling of those awful eyes watching him, trailing him through the darkness.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After morning tea with the sisters, Draco finds himself exhausted, likely from the nightmarish visions of Granger getting chomped on by a giant snake combined with leftover stress from the party. When a headache starts to settle in, he thinks it must be some combination of a hangover and piss-poor sleep catching up with him, though a sobriety potion doesn’t seem to help.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A few more days of apologizing to Astoria seems to have helped somewhat, though the expression of intense sadness in her eyes when she looks at him has not faded. He can hardly blame her, imagining what the scene must have looked like from her perspective. It must have been particularly horrifying to ‘catch’ him with Hermione, considering the fact that she believed there to be an attraction on Hermione’s part.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He nearly scoffs just thinking about it. As if the woman would look at him in any other way than an angry glare or a judgemental scowl.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>However, he can’t stop thinking about her lips on his, her eyes fierce and fiery and desperate, and all he wants to do is kiss her again, over and over, forever if she would let him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But no, he reminds himself that the kiss was simply a means to an end. He tries to think of it as a final goodbye to the little life they shared together ever so briefly in the little cottage in the French countryside.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he makes his way to their usual bench near the bazaar to meet her, he has to pause for a moment, leaning heavily against a nearby building to catch his breath. Everything seems unnaturally bright, and it makes his head ache. He conjures up a pair of sunglasses, which helps somewhat with the glare, though not so much with his headache.</span>
</p>
<p>
Granger is already on the bench when he arrives, and he nearly weeps with relief at seeing her there, alive, and uneaten. He reminds himself that if a giant snake ever did try to swallow her up, she would probably yell at the thing for being so disorderly before socking it in it’s evil snake-face until it decided to slither away.</p>
<p>She looks at him sharply as he slumps down tiredly next to her. He notices a tinge of darkness under her eyes and thinks that she looks nearly as exhausted as he feels.
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Rough night?” she asks, frowning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Something like that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ran out of your sobriety potions, did you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sighs heavily, instantly irritated with the judgement in her eyes. Apparently she has picked today of all days to ditch the occlumency and show him what she really feels. “Sure, Granger. Bad hangover. I’ve earned a few drinks, haven’t I? I have a lot to deal with these days, you know. My wife isn’t exactly pleased with me at the moment, as you’ll recall.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looks down, hands twisting in her lap. They almost look as though they are trembling slightly. “Right. Any, ah, ongoing domestic issues after the party?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>After you stuck your tongue down my throat in front of my wife?</span>
  </em>
  <span> He feels almost assaulted by the memory. He wants to reach over and grasp her hand, but his hand is shaking, and he knows she would never let him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not really,” he answers curtly, thinking about how he had squeezed his eyes shut and made love to Astoria the evening of the party and making himself feel even more ill.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Granger’s face remains impassive, and he tries to will himself to hate her again, but it immediately takes more effort than he is willing to give. Besides, he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>tired.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good. You’ll be pleased to know that Roger’s team confirmed the substance we found is indeed orichalcum powder.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh yes, I’m very pleased,” he sighs, taking his sunglasses off and bringing a hand to pinch his forehead as though he might be able to stall the aching behind his eyes. “Give Roger my regards, will you? I miss the old chap. Maybe I should invite him over for tea - we need a new companion, after all, since I assume you’re banished from the Estate at this point. On account of how you tongued me, remember?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her cheeks color somewhat, but he is too exhausted to relish her reaction.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That - seems likely,” she agrees tentatively. “It’s fine, I don’t need to get back there. We’ve confirmed that they have been mining for orichalcum, and they’re storing it at the Estate. I’ve been researching the runeknife as well, though I’m debating asking for permission to consult Devlin for help analyzing the hieroglyphs I didn’t recognize.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Devlin? Please don’t tell me you have </span>
  <em>
    <span>another</span>
  </em>
  <span> boyfriend running around Egypt. Kershaw and Davies would be jealous, surely. Devlin, you say?” The name sounds vaguely familiar, and the way she blushes slightly makes him want to overcome his nausea and go punch some mysterious new man vying for her attention.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hears her sharp intake of breath and mostly ignores it in favor of shutting his eyes for a moment and trying to think of a decent joke. Draco, Danny, Devlin, Davies. Quite a lot of D’s, he is sure he can come up with something juvenile if he can put in a small amount of effort.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Professor</span>
  </em>
  <span> Devlin. He teaches ancient runes at Beauxbatons. In any case, based on what I’ve been able to discern thus far, it seems we were correct. The intent is to use the powder to summon an ifrit, and the knife to bind it with blood. It will likely be a bit more complex, but that’s the gist of it. Based on the number of 1997 elderwine bottles in the cellar, if they don’t already have enough orichalcum then they will soon. The ICW already has investigators at known mining sites.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The world seems slightly tilted as he listens to her speak. He tries to focus on the gravity of the situation, but the throbbing sensation in his skull makes it hard to think.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The ICW is coordinating the response, but we need to find out where the ritual will take place,” she continues. Her voice, which he used to listen to attentively for hours on end, sounds like nails scratching against a chalkboard in his mind. “We have some theories, but with All Hallow’s Eve quickly approaching, if you could - Malfoy, are you listening?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” he snaps, suddenly desperate to get away from her and the feelings she inspires in him. She jerks back from him, surprise evident on her face, and he just wants to go home and sleep. “They’re nearly ready to summon the undead Dark Lord, blah blah blah. I’ll listen for clues about the location and let you know if I find anything out. Anything else I should risk my life for or are we done here?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She stares at him heavily for a moment. “Draco...are you alright? You really don’t look well.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m fine. All this fresh air is awful for a hangover, you know. Good idea meeting by the market - I’ll replenish my potion supplies. I foresee quite a lot of drinking in my future.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her eyes narrow as she continues to observe him with a reasonable facsimile of concern, and he bristles under her gaze.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You should stop judging me and have yourself a drink too. Might help you cope with the knowledge that you’ll never have the privilege of snogging me again, eh? Goodbye, Granger. An utter pleasure, as always.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her eyes flash, but before she can respond he abruptly stands and strides away. His vision seems slow to catch up to the suddenness of his movements.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As the days go by, he tries not to think about her. The task is made easier by the fact that his headaches continue to worsen, and thinking in general becomes a great deal more difficult. He vaguely wonders what on earth sort of illness he might’ve caught and curses the rotten timing. He can’t risk a visit to a healer - he has to stay at the Estate, has to look for anything he can find about the ritual.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria watches him nervously, continually asking how he is feeling as the hangover sensation persists and worsens. He can hardly keep any food down. Even sipping tea has become something of a struggle, as his hands start to shake whenever he reaches for his cup, and the clattering of it against the saucer rings heavily in his ears.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You look awful, Draco,” Danny Kershaw, who had come by with Ackerly Viridian again for tea with the family, observes one afternoon. “This has been going on for far too long. You really ought to see a healer.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He feels a faint perspiration on his forehead and is sure that Danny is correct, though he absolutely refuses to admit it to the man’s face. He forces a smile, wondering furiously if the bastard had a delightful little date with Granger while Draco was sitting around on the couch attempting to hold back his own vomit. “I still look better than you, don’t I, Kershaw?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Danny smiles back nervously before turning to Astoria and Daphne. “I suppose it’s a good sign that his sense of humor still persists.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“His arrogance, more like,” Daphne replies, rolling her eyes and smirking at him as she toys with that garish ruby ring on her finger. “I expect he’ll make a quick recovery. Malfoys are rather like cockroaches, you know - notoriously difficult to kill.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He glares at Daphne for a moment, too tired to think of a witty retort. His hands feel cold and clammy, and his eyes strain after glaring for a second too long. He takes a shaky sip of tea, feeling the warmth spread throughout his body for a brief moment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Some people get sun sick over here, you know,” Viridian offers, looking bored. “If you don’t want to go to a hospital, perhaps a trip out of the country will be helpful.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A trip sounds like a good idea,” Astoria offers, eyes wide with concern. “Doesn’t it, Draco? Our honeymoon was a bit brief, anyway. Maybe fresh mountain air will help. We could go to the family property in the Pyrenees, what do you think, Draco?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“As long as you’re with me, love,” he offers, and his voice sounds weak to his ears. The room seems to tilt in front of him and he thinks he might impolitely vomit on Ackerly Viridian, who is seated in the chair next to him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Keep him out of the Necropolis, at any rate,” Danny laughs awkwardly. “He might try to stay down there, eh?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The - Necropolis?” he asks. The room is turning grayish in front of him, and little black dots sprinkle themselves throughout his vision.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“More tea, Danny? Ackerly?” interrupts Daphne sharply.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looks at her for a moment and blinks, trying to figure out - something.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He feels like a huge puzzle piece is dangling just in front of him, but he is not sure exactly where it fits, and his eyes ache too much to look at it directly anyway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“None for me, thanks,” Danny replies with a smile. “We have some work to finish up over there, don’t we, Ackerly?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, yes. I’ll just finish my tea and we’ll be off,” Viridian offers politely, if a bit bored.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stop, that’s-!” squeaks Astoria at the alchemist, eyes panicking. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne has stood as well, and Draco pauses, overcoming the swirling in his mind to observe the scene. Viridian has taken a hold of Draco’s own teacup on accident, and proffers a polite apology before placing the cup back in its rightful place and taking his own proper cup.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco reaches for his teacup and stares into it blankly for a moment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The tea.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The room swims across his vision and he feels overwhelmingly nauseous.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Did they do something to his tea?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He fights the ache permeating through his entire body and forces his head up to look at his wife.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria is watching him with wide, tearful eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne is staring at him with barely concealed glee, hand resting threateningly near her wand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It all snaps into place as the world tilts and he thinks he might collapse.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s poison. They know. They know about him. They know he’s a spy, and they’ve been poisoning him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Why hadn’t they just killed him outright?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His stomach lurches.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I really do think you should take him to St. Mungo’s,” insists Viridian, but his voice sounds far away. “They have the best healers in the world. But, hmm, he doesn’t seem well enough to travel by portkey. And I suppose he’s not allowed back in England, is he? I’m happy to refer you to a reputable local healer if you like.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His hands are trembling weakly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sees a tear make its way down Astoria’s beautiful face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He needs to tell Granger. They </span>
  <em>
    <span>know.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll be fine,” he hears himself mumble as he attempts to rise.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He has to get to his phone, and he has to tell Hermione.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The world shifts again as he collapses to the ground in a heap, hot and shivering, and he hears something like a groan escape his throat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Worried voices hum around him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Draco!” gasps Astoria as she rushes to his side.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne hovers behind her with a malicious grin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sees Astoria’s worried face blur above him as everything starts to fade.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Draco,” she whispers, breath soft against his ear. “Draco, I’m so sorry. Draco...”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Hermione,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thinks desperately, as the world fades to darkness around him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hermione. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m-</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Hermione 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Do you have any particular thoughts about Draco Malfoy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione Granger blinks at Roger Davies, entirely thrown off guard by the question. She tries to quickly put together a mental picture of her former classmate given what she has heard about his post-Hogwarts life. The man had certainly managed to cultivate a rather notorious reputation within Parisian society. A rake, a drunk, and all sorts of other words which only make her curious as to why Roger would bring up his name. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Since somewhat begrudgingly testifying at his trial after the war while he did his damndest not to make eye contact with her, she had only caught brief glimpses of him here and there over the years. He only acknowledged her presence once, at a charity event that Devlin had hosted. He had been quite drunk, naturally, and insisted that he had something quite important to tell her before wandering off. Whatever important thing he had been intending to say - apologize for that one time she got nearly tortured to death in his ancestral home? thank her for testifying on his behalf at his trial? casually insult her hair? - she never found out. The next time she saw him, sometime later at the same event, he had some pretty blond draped all over him and a giant grin on his face. She had rolled her eyes and more or less put him out of her mind ever since. She nearly scoffs aloud simply thinking about the underwhelming encounter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I don’t,” she answers blandly. “I’ve hardly seen him since Hogwarts. Why do you ask?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger crosses his arms across his chest and leans back in his chair. “His name is on the short-list for the Egypt mission. Frankly, he’s our first choice at this point by far. Since you’ll be consulting on that one, I thought you might want to check in on him. You know - get a feel for his head-space, see if he’s up for this sort of thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She actually does scoff aloud at that, reaching up to straighten Roger’s nameplate on his desk to mask her reaction. “I doubt he’ll have any interest in speaking with me. We never got on at school, and we haven’t exactly gotten together for tea over the years. Why is </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> on the list?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger smiles at her lightly. “Well, you’ll probably have more luck than any of us. He’s not exactly on friendly terms with the Ministry on account of his family’s - ah, situation. He’s got connections, and I expect we have some leverage over him. This is Sebek-ari’s operation, Hermione, and we believe he’ll be hunkered down in Egypt for some time. You know some of Malfoy’s old Slytherin chums are involved with that group. This could be the best chance to get someone on the inside.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sighs heavily, trying to focus on the potential to devastate Sebek-ari’s ambitions rather than on the first boy to ever call her a ‘Mudblood.’ It had been nearly twenty years ago, sure, though hardly something she has ever forgotten. She remembers that Malfoy used to be fairly friendly with Blaise Zabini, who would likely be the one to secure his access to the group, if he actually would agree to help them for some reason. She cannot imagine a scenario in which he would, however.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine. I’ll do so this week. I believe he still flits about Place Cachée regularly?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger narrows his eyes at her, still smiling, and nods. “Indeed, he does.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right. I’ll let you know how it goes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good. If it works out, we’ll need to get him trained up and over to Egypt fairly quickly. You’re all set with the Beauxbatons cover?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sighs again at the implication that </span>
  <em>
    <span>she</span>
  </em>
  <span> will be the one training him up and educating him on Egyptian Death Cults. It was part of her arrangement with the Ministry of course, and she does generally prefer to have as much control of the operation planning as she can get, but somehow she thinks that she would rather storm one of Sebek-ari’s compounds by herself than spend any amount of time in a cozy safehouse playing babysitter to Draco Malfoy of all people. “Yes. We are finalizing the details. I expect to sign the contract within the month.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very good. Well, at least you’ll have something to do that you actually enjoy while you’re over there. And - don’t worry about Malfoy. If he acts like a cunt, you just let me know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can nearly guarantee that he will. What, will you thrash him on my behalf if he acts up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I’m very confident you’ll be able to handle any necessary thrashing.” Roger smiles lightly at her. They have worked quite well enough together on several contracts over the years. He is a handsome man, to be sure, and quite accomplished - and </span>
  <em>
    <span>quite</span>
  </em>
  <span> married. He has never been so committed to marital fidelity that he’ll entirely cease flirting with her from time to time, however. Still - if an occasional bit of uncomfortable one-sided flirting from a handsome man is all she needs to put up with to accomplish her goals, then so be it. She has certainly suffered through worse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right,” she agrees with a hint of finality and an eagerness to depart the office. She stands to leave. “See you next week then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He opens his mouth as though he wants to say something more, but instead closes it again into a smile and a farewell nod.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She lets out a heavy exhale and departs through the floo.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tracking down Draco Malfoy is hardly a challenge. Place Cachée is rather small, and the man stands out in a crowd, as he always has. He is taller than most, and his platinum blond hair is striking. She finds herself sitting at a bar, face obscured with a glamour charm, watching Draco Malfoy flit about the room oblivious to her presence, and she notices an unsettling feeling deep within her gut.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She tries to analyze it with a frown, and can only come to one unfortunate conclusion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first thing she feels as she observes Draco Malfoy for the first time in years is an odd, oppressive sense of jealousy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As she watches him smilingly flirt with a pretty girl, she frowns deeply, thinking about the last time she had bothered to summon up the energy to engage with anyone in such a casual, carefree manner. In general, she can hardly find the time or energy to force a polite smile to a friendly stranger, let alone smile and simper and do all of the things that single young adults tend to do. She has other priorities which guide her every action, after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She grinds her teeth and watches Malfoy grin and flirt like an idiot and is immediately irritated at him as she reflects upon the fact that her own romantic life has been fairly lackluster of late.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not that she has been sitting around moping the entire time, but it has been one thousand eight hundred and fifty-two days since Ron’s death. On day three hundred and eighty-one, she indulged in a somewhat depressing drunken one night stand with a red-haired muggle man whose name she never bothered to learn and whose face she likely wouldn’t recognize. On day five hundred and twelve, she began a slightly less depressing, though not by much, three-month-long affair with a handsome wizard named David who Ginny had set her up with. He was a Ministry archivist who had been too in awe of the concept of her war hero status to maintain much in the way of a conversation, and instead had therefore been extremely awkward. On day one thousand two hundred and eleven, she began a much more enjoyable, but still ultimately fruitless fling with Grant Devlin, the ancient runes professor of Beauxbatons while working on a contract together. It had been perhaps a bit ill-advised, and not exactly romantic. But it had also been fun, for the most part, and a nice reminder that she </span>
  <em>
    <span>could</span>
  </em>
  <span> still have fun for a little while, at any rate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Three men over the course of nearly two thousand days. How underwhelming. She wonders idly if Draco Malfoy has been with three women over the course of this week.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks carefree. He looks </span>
  <em>
    <span>happy.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He looks like his punishment of being sent away from England was more of a reward than anything. Fewer people despise him and his family here, surely. He gets to drink as much as he wants, and he gets to fuck whoever he wants, and she wonders just for a moment what that must feel like. Drinking, and fucking, and being happy, and not being exhausted from sleepless nights and the mental efforts of lugging around the old, heavy albatrosses of their youth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She finds herself feeling furiously jealous. After everything, why should </span>
  <em>
    <span>he </span>
  </em>
  <span>get to live such a carefree existence while she is-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While she doesn’t even know how to describe her current state of existence, other than to declare it somewhat fractured.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if sensing her gaze upon him, he glances around the room and makes eye contact with her glamoured face and he smirks. She meets his eyes for a moment, having a completely unreasonable internal debate about the merits of letting him seduce her while she is pretending just for a night to not be herself. Maybe she could pretend to be like him for a night, carefree and happy, just to see what it would be like.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She finishes her drink quickly and departs, mission unaccomplished and feeling incredibly off-kilter by the non-encounter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taking a deep breath, she tells herself that she can wait to confront him until she can better control the variables. Her feet drag her to the liquor store of their own accord on the way home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hardly ever drinks. That is, she tries not to drink overly often. She is entirely in control of herself, and very rarely drinks to excess, that is, for the most part.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That night, she pours herself another drink and thinks about Ron. Surely, he would be laughing at her for being too scared to simply have a chat with their old nemesis. Or maybe he would be able to tell that she begrudgingly found the man somewhat physically attractive, and jealousy would rear its ugly head. More probably, he would look pointedly at her tumbler full of liquor and silently stare at her with judgement in his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The liquor burns its way familiarly down her throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She reminds herself that despite the conversations she still has with him in her head, Ron is dead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He is dead. He was murdered right in front of her eyes, and she had cradled his corpse in her arms and even though they had been in the middle of some stupid argument not five minutes earlier, there hadn’t been any judgement in his eyes because they had melted away, and his face was completely gone above his jaw, and his blood was bright red on her shaking hands, and little bits of his skull and brain matter were clinging to her blood-stained sweater, and-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And her hands tremble as she stuffs those memories back into a box in her mind as hastily as she can. She shakily pours one more stiff drink before coming up with a plan to approach the annoyingly carefree Draco Malfoy the following evening.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With the memories back where they belong, she takes a deep breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She is perfectly in control.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He is easy enough to find, once again. His tall, lanky, white-blond form is not difficult to spot. He is already a little drunk, she is sure, as she watches him stumble into Muggle Paris.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a heavy sigh, she follows him into a nearly empty hotel bar. She observes him from the shadows for a moment before spying the bartender. After a quick Confundus Charm and a glamour application, suddenly the Grands Hotel has a brand new bartender slinking over to serve drinks to the lone tall, blond patron sitting smilingly at the bar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An old rock and roll song by the Rolling Stones drifts quietly across the room, emanating from the speakers above them on the ceiling. One of her mother’s favorites, she notes wistfully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looks at him for a moment and thinks that up close, he seems a little more exhausted than she had initially expected, and certainly a lot less carefree and happy. She tries to gather some confidence from the fact that maybe she isn’t the only one still suffering.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then, he looks up at her and he smiles, wide and toothily, and she tries to recall if in the nearly twenty years they have known each other if he has </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever</span>
  </em>
  <span> smiled at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Must be my lucky day,” he enthuses to her, still grinning. “You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>beautiful.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Bet you get that a lot, yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wants to roll her eyes. A small, ridiculous part of her almost preens at the compliment until she reminds herself that she is wearing an altered face for the evening, and she has never cared what he thinks of her besides. “Do you say that to all your bartenders?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes widen along with his grin. “Only the prettiest ones! A fellow Brit, eh? What brings you to Paris?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Work,” she replies blandly, gesturing around the bar. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” he nods seriously, glancing around briefly before grinning again. So much grinning coming from the man, it is rather disarming. “Very prestigious, here at the something-or-other hotel bar. I suppose I should order your fanciest drink, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you like. Is that why you’re in Paris then? Solely to get drunk at fancy hotel bars?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, no. I’m exiled, you see.” His eyebrow twitches and he somehow manages to grin even wider, with a bit of a maniacal look in his eyes. “Banished from my motherland, never to return.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Banished,” she repeats, blinking at him. She supposes it is a bit of a dramatic take on the subject, but close enough in spirit. She thinks perhaps an offer of a partial pardon including the right to return to England might be worthwhile, then. “Why is that? You must have done something rather awful, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laughs, but this newfound mirth doesn’t quite reach his tired eyes. “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>did!</span>
  </em>
  <span> Very awful. I’m a bit notorious, really. Ladies usually fall straight out of their panties when they hear about it, let me tell you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She quirks an eyebrow at him, which he takes as a sign of encouragement for some reason.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll need another few drinks before getting into all of that. Too bad for you, it’s quite a story, and I tell it so well! Funny thing - I’m a bit of a snake, actually.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She inwardly rolls her eyes as he giggles at his little joke which she pretends not to understand, grabbing the nearest whiskey bottle from the bar well and pouring it into a tumbler before sliding the glass his way with the briefest flicker of a smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tilts his head as he eyes the glass almost suspiciously. He sniffs at it and crinkles his nose, looking somewhat aghast. “Do I strike you as a cheap whiskey sort of man?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, but I expect you’ll drink it anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks back up at her and grins yet again. “You’re not wrong. Though I expect it will be more enjoyable if you join me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shrugs, feeling somewhat overwhelmed by him and thinking that even though she probably shouldn’t, just one drink won’t hurt, so she pours one for herself. She’ll leave extra money on the way out, of course, for the poor confounded bartender. He grins and she tilts her glass in his direction, and they drink the cheap whiskey quickly together. He is doing an awful lot of grinning, and she finds it incredibly off-putting, having only expected to see his typical sneering face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He coughs as he finishes his drink. “This is disgusting, truly. I’ll need something to wash it down. One of your fanciest cocktails, if you please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She smiles lightly at him as she reaches over for the cheap whiskey, maintaining eye contact with him the entire time as she pours it into his glass. The old Hermione, the one from Hogwarts who doesn’t have bigger problems to dwell upon, cheers her on for stymying her old bully’s plans. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His smile widens as he watches her. “Are you sure you’re a bartender? I’m afraid what you’ve just given me is neither fancy, nor a cocktail.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shrugs, gesturing upwards to a quiet song emitting from the speakers of the bar. “I’m afraid ‘you can’t always get what you want.’”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He barks out a laugh. “True enough. What song is this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She raises an eyebrow at him, not surprised that he is unfamiliar with the Rolling Stones, but feeling as though the random muggle bartender she is pretending to be likely would be. She suppresses happier memories of long ago, dancing about the sitting room to the tune as a girl with her parents. “It’s quite a famous one. What happened to your face?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aside from the tired looking smudges under his eyes, one of them has a purplish bruise forming on it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grins again, gesturing to his eye. “Oh, this? I was having a rather explicit conversation with a </span>
  <em>
    <span>bewitching </span>
  </em>
  <span>brunette at the bar prior to this one. Taller than you, though nowhere near as pretty, I’ll have you know. Her husband somewhat objected.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Forgot to check for a ring, did you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no. Of course not. I saw it there. Very shiny, it was.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She raises an eyebrow at him. “It almost sounds as though you wanted an arse-kicking.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shrugs. “Maybe I did. I - I’m sorry, I forgot your name.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I never told you my name.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laughs again, and she is quite sure that he has laughed more this evening than she has ever seen him do before. Cumulative. He slurs his words somewhat as he continues chipperly. “Well, as lovely as this conversation has been, Miss Beautiful-bartender-who-won’t-tell-me-her-name, you don’t know me. I know I seem incredibly charming, and distractingly handsome, and very, very sexy, but...where was I...? Ah, right. What if I’m an irredeemable monster? Maybe I deserve a bit of an arse-kicking.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She levels him with a heavy stare as he grins brightly before it fades, and he looks down to glare at his whiskey. She finds herself feeling surprised at his attitude. Despite the slurred rambling, he seems regretful enough talking to a simple stranger at a bar, and maybe he feels just as weighed down by it all as she does. It’s rare, she thinks, to find another person still stuck in their worst nightmares. The majority of the magical community seemed to have been content enough with the fact that the Good Guys won the war on the backs of teenagers, and celebrations could be had as the world moved on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I suppose I don’t believe that anyone is irredeemable,” she offers tentatively, and not quite untruthfully. “Our actions define us, don’t they? If you could do something to make up for whatever horrible you’ve done, would you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s far from subtle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks at her intensely and for a moment she is concerned that the glamour on her face has worn off. After a beat he rolls his shoulders and throws back the remainder of his whiskey, nearly missing his mouth in doing so. “You seem terribly wise. I don’t suppose I can convince you to abandon your post and come back to my flat with me to impart some wisdom upon each other?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She almost smiles, imagining a world in which Draco Malfoy would legitimately try to seduce her, knowing full well who she was. She tries to picture what a night with him would even look like. He seems confident enough, and she has heard about his infamously rakish ways. She assumes it would be a far more satisfying experience than she had with the anonymous muggle, or David the awkward archivist at any rate. It would be meaningless, surely, and if he knew it was her then he would likely immediately remember that he hates her, but it is amusing to think about.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I suppose not,” she sighs somewhat wistfully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alas,” he grins, reaching for his wallet and wavering on the chair. “In another life, perhaps.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My treat,” she insists, watching him warily. “It’s the least I could do for making you drink that wretched stuff. Maybe go home, and stay away from married women for the rest of the night?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you for the awful drinks then. As to the married women - well, as you broke my vulnerable little heart just now, I’m afraid I can’t make any promises. Besides, ‘I might just get what I need.’” With a wink and a gesture with his index finger to the speakers, he tosses more than enough money to cover his drinks on the bar anyway - an obscene amount, really, the git, though it might make the poor confounded bartender feel a bit better - and departs, somewhat wobbly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She watches him go uneasily, thinking that if she was actually a bartender she might have cut him off rather than serving him terrible whiskey and interrogating him, as he appears to be somewhat more inebriated than she had first thought. She thinks she’ll tell Roger that he will probably accept the offer, and she thinks that maybe he does indeed want to atone after all this time, but his unsteady meander out the door makes her sigh deeply and stare after him.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You’re just going to let him wander off like that?</span>
  </em>
  <span> asks the familiar voice of a dead man in her head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pours herself another drink, paid for by Malfoy’s absurd amount of money.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Why do you care?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He’s a git. I don’t care. But you do.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She rolls her eyes at herself, quickly tosses her drink back, and follows the git out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Watching from a distance, she sees him stumble into a nearby pub. Feeling a little unsteady herself, she stays across the street watching through the windows from the shadows as he has another drink and chats up the nearest woman to him. She is completely unsurprised when not five minutes later he is being thrown out into the street by the husband of that same woman with some violence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nearly rolls her eyes as she drops her facial disguise and fixes her clothes. May as well approach Malfoy as herself once again and gauge his reaction. The guy has already punched Malfoy in the face once, and kicks him in the ribs roughly. The stupid git isn’t even attempting to fight back. Something in her heart shudders when Malfoy lets out a pained, helpless cry, and she quickly casts yet another Confundus charm and rushes forward as the man pauses, looks around curiously and wanders away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She kneels down next to him in the middle of the street and checks him quickly for any serious looking injuries. He groans up at her from the ground. She almost feels a little guilty, but he </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> said he’d wanted an arse-kicking-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Is that - hey, you’re not Granger, are you?” he mumbles almost disbelievingly with a little bit of a laughing cough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, Malfoy, I am,” she sighs, suddenly feeling </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span> than a little guilty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hah. Granger! Haven’t seen you since...Hey, I’m surprised you didn’t let him hit me a few more times.” He coughs again and trails off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I let him hit you enough. Come on. You’re hurt, let’s get you home. Where do you live?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grins, somehow still grinning even after getting socked in the face, and a little bit of blood is dripping down the corner of his mouth. “Trying to take me home, are you Granger? You won’t be disappointed,” he half-sings at her as she helps him stand. “Best night of your life, I swear it. You’ll not believe the rotten luck I’ve had tonight, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She frowns as he leans on her heavily for a moment, somewhat wobbly. “I might, actually. Come on now. What’s your address?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, after some odd, drunken back and forth, she takes his wallet out of his jacket and looks for his identification. She rolls her eyes as he tries to nuzzle at her neck, slapping him away before leading him to an alleyway to apparate him to the vicinity of his flat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He giggles - actually giggles! - and tugs at a loose curl falling down near her ear as they wobble towards his home. His arm is wrapped heavily around her shoulder. It is probably for the best, as he seems quite unable to stand up straight on his own, for which she feels partially responsible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Granger, you’re pretty,” he tells her with a studious grin, and she scoffs at him. Her arm is going somewhat numb from supporting the drunken idiot, as he is quite a lot taller than her, making the entire process very awkward. “Well, not when you make a face like </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she manages to get him to stumble through the door, he immediately affixes his hands to her hips. Her heart nearly skips a beat at the contact.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For balance,” he tells her seriously, looking down into her eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wants to roll her eyes again but he is looking at her so intensely with those steely eyes of his that she somehow cannot tear her gaze away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He starts to lean towards her and she immediately shakes her head, hoping to indicate in advance that despite the rapid fluttering of her heart, whatever it is he is preparing to do she is </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> going to be a party to it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He ignores her and in a flash his lips are on hers, warm and surprisingly gentle, and certainly she hadn’t been prepared for the night to take such a turn. She knows she should push him away. She should slap him and leave and she certainly shouldn’t be opening her mouth to let his tongue dance inside and she shouldn’t be closing her eyes and just </span>
  <em>
    <span>feeling</span>
  </em>
  <span> for a moment, and she certainly shouldn't be kissing him back, and-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it wouldn’t have to </span>
  <em>
    <span>mean</span>
  </em>
  <span> anything, right? He clearly does this sort of thing all the time, and considering his pointed dislike of her, she could be </span>
  <em>
    <span>anyone,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something horrifyingly happy and warm and full of desire coils inside of her and she immediately comes back to herself and shoves him away from her. The wet </span>
  <em>
    <span>pop</span>
  </em>
  <span> of their lips breaking apart sounds through the air and she shakes her head violently to rid herself of her temporary insanity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He blinks at her with a lopsided smile and surprise in his eyes, stumbling somewhat. He stares at her with a fiery intensity as he puts a hand out to steady himself. “Granger...? Hey, Granger, I’m...you know, I’m...I always wanted to tell you that I’m...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Malfoy-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At that point, he leans forward and promptly vomits on her shoes.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Oops, more flashbacks. If you've made it this far, hope you're enjoying the story, and thanks for sticking around!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Hermione 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Throughout the course of her life, Hermione has often been accused of being something of a control freak.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Those were Ron’s words often enough, at any rate. She has never quite agreed with the negative connotation of the assessment, however. She </span>
  <em>
    <span>likes</span>
  </em>
  <span> having control of any given situation. It helps her feel more confident when she has a prepared plan for any given iteration of any given scenario, and in order to be prepared she needs to be organized. Her books are always in order based upon a faceted classification system, her potion ingredients are organized by primary and secondary magical properties before being alphabetized, and even her fruits and vegetables are properly categorized by genus, weight, and color. She generally never keeps alcohol in her home, not anymore, because with alcohol comes that feeling - that awful feeling of unpredictability.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The order lets her wrap her most awful memories into tidy little boxes to be shoved into the furthest depths of her mind where they remain happily unacknowledged, escaping only during the occasional nightmare.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Control is good. It keeps her sane. She has never understood why people would want </span>
  <em>
    <span>less</span>
  </em>
  <span> of it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco Malfoy feels like a wrecking ball, aimed and swinging at the sturdy walls of control she has been fortifying for her entire life. Thinking about her long-time enemy drunkenly sticking his stupid tongue in her mouth while she offered absolutely no resistance shakes her entire existence to the very core and has her reeling like a bloody teenager, and her already unsteady equilibrium feels utterly fractured.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was an action with no purpose. It did nothing to further her goals or align with her long-term objectives. It - should never have happened, and she tells herself that despite the happy little warm feeling that had fluttered in her belly, it was a horrifying experience which she </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely</span>
  </em>
  <span> did not enjoy whatsoever.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even just looking at his face throws her back to that moment in her life when she had the least control she could possibly have. He had watched her there at her weakest, writhing and twitching and spasming and sobbing on the cold, hard ground of his ancestral home.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It has been years now, but she remembers exactly what his face had looked like, weak and ill and nauseous and scared, and-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And she wonders if it’s too early for a drink, until she sharply reminds herself that </span>
  <em>
    <span>no,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she doesn’t want or need one, not when she still has to deal with the ridiculous, hungover naked man.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione is quite grateful for the bits of occlumency she has picked up over the years when Draco Malfoy stretches his naked body in front of her. She scrabbles for whatever available strands of magic she can find and keeps her face stoic while she blushes furiously inside, attempting not to stare at his member which is just - hanging there, twitching about. It’s almost obscene, honestly. She absently notes that his body is far more aesthetically appealing than any other naked man she has seen in such a personal way before, but-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But, obviously, that doesn’t matter. She cuts her preposterous train of thought off and forces her eyes back to his, explaining the situation as concisely as she can. She is grateful that his memory of the previous evening seems to be unclear, at best.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Despite the absurdity of finding himself hungover and naked in front of his old school rival, she thinks he composes himself quite well. Within moments he is shamelessly fake-flirting with her again, making a ridiculous pouty face at her for presumably not admiring the view, and not for the first time she congratulates herself on not having done anything as </span>
  <em>
    <span>monumentally stupid</span>
  </em>
  <span> as sleeping with him the previous evening.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>But imagine what it would have been like,</span>
  </em>
  <span> a tiny, evil part of her brain cajoles her, and she doesn’t have to leave much to her imagination, considering how much of him is visible to her at the moment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Good thing you’re smarter than that,</span>
  </em>
  <span> offers the voice of Dead Ron in her head with a little laugh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She internally rolls her eyes at the argument altogether, reminding herself that if she would have gone along with it any further than she did, she might have ended up with his vomit over more than just her shoes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he accepts the job with a leering grin, she curses her eleven year old self for befriending Harry Potter and swooping her up into this decades-long effort of preventing Lord Voldemort from returning to the land of the living. All of that effort to protect Harry and her friends, all the suffering over the years, all the awful nightmares she still has, and the reward she gets is having to babysit Draco Malfoy and dodge his painfully unsubtle attempts at pretending to seduce her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A part of her thinks that despite all of that, she should do whatever she can to avoid getting trapped into spending too much time alone with him in a safe house - and for who knows how long. Another part of her, admittedly, is somewhat curious to see what would happen if she does.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She updates Roger that afternoon and relates her tentative misgivings about being the one to train the ludicrous man.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Roger blinks at her. “But - well, it’s part of your contract. Why don’t you want to?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Personal reasons,” she answers blandly, </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> not wanting to get into the details with him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>‘I have seen him naked and although we hate each other I am somewhat concerned about the fact that I am having internal debates on the merits of shagging him,’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>probably would give him second thoughts about hiring her altogether.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He frowns. “I know he was a bit of a wanker at school, but - is he really still that bad? If that’s the case, maybe we should look for someone else...there aren’t a whole lot of options, really, but-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She thinks about Malfoy’s annoyingly hopeful face when she had offered him and his family the opportunity to return home and sighs heavily, always prepared to play the martyr. “No, I - it’s fine. He’ll be fine. You’re right, I think I just have some residual negative emotions leftover from school.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Roger raises a curious eyebrow at her and she keeps her face impassive, with Evil Hermione somewhat amused at how easily she had talked herself into withdrawing her misgivings.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He - used to insult my hair somewhat regularly,” she adds awkwardly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Roger blinks in a perplexed manner, eyes darting up to her hair for a moment. “Well, ah, I think your hair looks nice, for what that’s worth,” he offers with a little smile, which she politely ignores.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She dislikes how disconcerted she is becoming from the brief encounter in Paris, but she commits herself to professionalism and prepares to devote her own personal time to attempting to teach Malfoy the basics of Egyptology and hope that he bothers to pay attention.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As she drives up to the safehouse, she sits in her car for an extra minute after she parks to steady her breathing and ready herself. Compartmentalizing herself into multiple mental pieces through occlumency is exhausting, particularly considering her somewhat consistent lack of sleep, but she commits herself to the practice. She is not at all interested in letting him learn any more about her than he needs to. Merlin, she hopes he doesn’t remember that fumbling, awkward, drunken kiss.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For the first two days in the cottage, she becomes convinced that he is more likely flirting with her in an attempt to annoy her to death rather than actually seduce her. He isn’t even subtle about it, waggling his eyebrows at her and literally inviting himself to join her in her own bed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Evil Hermione continues to recommend ridiculous ideas like allowing him to have his way, and she scoffs at herself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She debates owling Roger and demanding that they should indeed somehow manage to find some other former Death Eater idiot willing to spy for them who is less vexing. She is nearly sure that this particular idiot is only going along with the whole plan simply to irk her, and that the minute he realizes his life will be at risk during the operation he will cravenly bail out entirely.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the meantime, she aims to revenge herself upon him as best she can - by making the Ministry mandated onboarding lectures even more intensely detailed than required, hoping it will bore him into being uninterested in her and she won’t have to deal with the ridiculous situation after all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It quickly begins to feel frustratingly like strategic warfare. He seems committed to stymying her tactical decisions at every turn, listening intently to her admittedly boring lectures with a maddening grin on his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She narrows her eyes at him, and every time her occlumency wavers for even a moment and she shows the barest hint of emotion, his grin widens, as though he is keeping a running tally of her weaknesses.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He has obnoxiously nice looking teeth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And a nice looking cock,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Evil Hermione reminds her, and she silently groans at herself and wonders if she should research the intricacies of self-obliviation. The image of his stupid, smirking, muscular, naked self is seared into her brain and she does not approve of how discomfited he makes her. All the occlumency in the world wouldn’t be able to bring back the equilibrium she had felt mere days ago, before laying eyes on his unpleasant, attractive face for the first time in years.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She wakes up early on the third day and tries not to think about him as she runs through her meditative morning routine. She puts on a kettle for tea, and as the water warms she runs through a series of exercises - pushups, situps, and squats, focusing on the feel of each movement rather than letting her brain run wild, repeated until she is lightly sweating. She closes her eyes and sips on her Earl Grey, taking several long, slow deep breaths along the way and reminding herself that no matter how Malfoy goes about attempting to needle her throughout the day, she has already managed to be productive - and she has a liberation planned for the morning, at any rate.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She is grateful for the opportunity to escape from her hellish little sequestering with him for a trip to Beauxbatons. She adores the looming mountains of the Pyreneese and is always grateful for the opportunity to visit the school. Temporarily forgoing occlumency and breathing in the fresh, mountain air is nearly overwhelming in its relief.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After the formalities of signing her Eye of Ra contract with the Beauxbatons administrative team, thankfully involving no surprises or drunk naked ex-classmates, she hesitates for a brief moment. She thinks that immediately returning to the cabin to get emotionally toyed with by Malfoy does not exactly sound appealing, and quickly finds herself walking down a familiar hallway and approaching a familiar door, intending to check in on a former colleague.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She leans against the doorframe and looks into the office.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your hair is getting greyer, Dev.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Professor Grant Devlin of the Beauxbatons ancient runes department looks up from the papers on his desk and smiles warmly when he sees her, dropping his quill. He rises and walks over to her, kissing her lightly on the cheek. He smells the same, something like a comforting old book wrapped in leather, and she lingers in his embrace for just a moment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And you’re as lovely as ever, Hermione Granger,” he replies, accent tinged with French from living and teaching in the country for so many years. “Here to break my heart again, are you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She almost laughs, knowing full well that their brief, uneventful relationship had been nowhere near volatile enough to leave any broken hearts in its wake. “Not today, I’m afraid. This is a professional visit rather than a personal one.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah, I see,” he smiles softly as he gestures for her to enter his office. “I assume you’ve just signed the Eye of Ra contract? I’m deeply jealous, I’ll have you know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She smiles at him, walking in to take a seat on the loveseat in his office. He joins her and conjures teacups for them both. They both have a preference for Earl Grey, which was always a convenient aspect to the pseudo-relationship they pursued for a time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jealous! Not really, are you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I am,” he insists. He is a very handsome man, and quite fit considering he is nearly fifteen years her senior. “I wrote a paper about it some time ago, actually.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know - I actually read it yesterday, and I have some notes,” she smiles sweetly at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course you do,” he laughs in a delightful tenor. “Please enlighten me about what you think I’ve gotten wrong so that I may correct you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well I wouldn’t say that anything is </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong</span>
  </em>
  <span> with it, per se.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do I sense a ‘but’? I’d be remiss if I didn’t remind you that I was awarded an Order of Merlin for my efforts.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Third class, as I recall,” she interrupts, not managing to suppress her smile very successfully.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, well, we can’t all run around defeating Dark Wizards like you, Miss War Heroine. But - tell me, where are you thinking of starting your search?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She briefly fills him in on the concept she has devised for her search. “Your research at the tomb was heavily focused on Ra, for obvious reasons. I believe you’ve made the classic historical mistake of neglecting the importance of a woman. I am going to start with a more thorough investigation of the chamber devoted to Sekhmet.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He raises an eyebrow at her and takes a sip of tea. “Ra’s daughter, the lioness. I wonder if you’re not letting your fiery passion for the Gryffindor house influence you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I am not. Sekhmet was both a warrior goddess and a goddess of healing. The Eye is purported to have the capacity to act as a weapon, but you’ll recall Blishen theorized it had the potential to provide a source of healing as well. I’m not wrong - it’s a sound foundation to begin the search.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looks thoughtful, if somewhat doubtful. “You’ll have to let me know what you find. You know, as rewarding as teaching has been - let me tell you, if they would have delayed the start date until after the school term you might’ve had to compete with me for this contract.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her smile widens at the thought as she takes a sip of tea. “I generally prefer collaborating with you, Professor. Don’t you agree?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Certainly.” He rests his arm on the edge of the couch behind her and smiles a bit bashfully. She wonders if he is remembering the culmination of their successful collaboration in Peru two years earlier. His eyes are a piercingly deep blue, and she can see the barest hints of wrinkles beginning to form at the corners of his eyes. She thinks it’s rather dignified, really, and the familiar scent of his cologne lingers in the air. Greyish robes fit smartly on his lithe frame in that tailored way she always found endearing. Too many men prefer to dress shabbily, in her opinion, and it’s quite difficult to carry on a conversation with a disheveled man when all she wants to do is desperately straighten his tie.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Malfoy dresses rather nicely, doesn’t he?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Evil Hermione asks with a snide air of innocence. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Though he looks equally nice wearing nothing at all!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If I’m still there come the summer, perhaps we can give collaboration another go,” she continues after mentally flagellating herself for dragging the image of Naked Draco Malfoy into Devlin’s office with her. “I expect to have some - ah, additional obligations while I’m over there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He raises a knowing eyebrow. “Ahh, is this one of </span>
  <em>
    <span>those</span>
  </em>
  <span> contracts then? I assume you’re not able to share much in the way of details.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If it is, I’m sure I wouldn’t be allowed to say,” she replies. They have worked together on several Ministry-sponsored projects in the past, which she remembers quite fondly for multiple reasons, but he is familiar with how the clearance system functions.  “Though I suppose I can say that if it is, it would be for the greater good, as usual.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hm, ever the idealist, you are. You don’t seem particularly enthusiastic about this one, however,” he observes, pursing his lips and peering at her closely.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She lets out a slow exhale, a little unimpressed with how easy she is to read, but somewhat sick of her exhausting attempts at occlumency with Malfoy. She tries to determine how best to phrase her response. “The job shouldn’t be a problem overall, though I have a - colleague who is a bit problematic.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A colleague. If only. A drunk, promiscuous idiot, more like.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I see. And - what, you’ve sought me out for a bit of my famous worldly wisdom?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Careful, Dev. You almost sound like a bitter old man. One of the things I like about you is that you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>experienced.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Cheeky,” he chuckles, and his arm drops to her shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She had never loved Devlin, though sometimes she wistfully thinks that it might have been nice if she had. She still holds him in a high regard as a researcher and as something of a friend. For the briefest of moments, she pictures herself swinging her leg over his and straddling him. Letting him kiss her for old times’ sake, wrapping her arms behind his neck to pull him closer, feeling him pressing against her, and-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She rolls her eyes at herself, having surely solved the mystery of her odd little attraction to Draco Malfoy. Not that she has been sulking about ticking off the calendar, but it has been four hundred and seven days since the last time she last had sex. Clearly, considering how close she is to jumping the bones of a former lover who she has no actual romantic interest in, perhaps she simply needs to have herself a shag. That is a problem she will surely be easily able to overcome.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quite easily.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Easily enough that now that she knows it’s the problem, it is hardly a problem at all and very well within her control.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There is a bit too much history with Devlin, so perhaps she’ll go pick up a stranger at a bar for a night. A meaningless shag and then straight back to work, that’s just what she needs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Evil Hermione reminds her about the fact that Malfoy seems to be the king of meaningless shags, and she rolls her eyes at herself once more before cutting off that ridiculous train of thought. It’s his fault after all for making her feel so - indelicate? - what with wagging his cock about so obscenely the morning after snogging her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Devlin is watching her with a faintly amused look on his face. “This colleague of yours...”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shakes her head harshly, not wanting to discuss what is rapidly turning into a problem with him, of all people. “It’s not a big deal, really. I’ve dealt with worse problems than this prat.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His grasp on her shoulder tightens somewhat and for a moment she thinks he might indeed lean in and kiss her, and she might let him just to spite Draco sodding Malfoy, but instead he withdraws his arm with a soft smile. “I’m sure you have. For what it’s worth, maybe you should give this colleague of yours a chance to surprise you. You never know. There, you’ve successfully used me for my wisdom, madam. If you have any questions about the Eye I shall absolutely refuse to answer you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can find out the answers to my questions on my own, thank you very much,” she smiles, letting out a heavy breath. She wonders if maybe Devlin has a new paramour, and that’s why he isn’t pursuing her as he usually would. It doesn’t bother her, exactly, but she feels as though she has been reeling for the past few days and might have used a little dependability.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She wonders briefly if Malfoy has somehow slithered his way into her mind and turned her into some sort of sex-crazed hormonal lunatic rather than a highly reknowned and respected magiarchaeologist who has every aspect of her life entirely tightly reined under control.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, I don’t doubt it. You know, I will likely be in Cairo this summer, actually. I’d dearly love to see the sphinx at the Museum of Mythological Magicks again.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve always wanted to go,” she admits.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, if you haven’t solved all the problems of the world by the summer, I’ll let you know when I arrive. Perhaps we can go together.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He kisses her on the cheek again on her way out, and she steels herself for another encounter with her most problematic ‘colleague.’ She half-heartedly convinces herself to consider Devlin’s advice and give the idiot a chance.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Naturally, she changes her mind when she returns to the cottage and said idiot is lying about shirtlessly </span>
  <em>
    <span>in her bed</span>
  </em>
  <span> scribbling carelessly </span>
  <em>
    <span>in her books,</span>
  </em>
  <span> grinning like a madman with a death wish and he really is distractingly good-looking and she shakily attempts to fortify her occlumency shields into place before she can either hex him or shag him or curse him or punch him or possibly some undefined thing in between.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Hermione 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Hermione’s tentatively held together equilibrium goes very suddenly from slightly fractured to entirely shattered to pieces.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As a general rule, she governs her actions according to a very strict yet simple code. Her goal is to protect her family, at any cost - Harry and Ginny, the Weasley clan, her own parents. Having already failed to keep Ron alive and safe, and knowing what sorts of threats are still out there, she has poured her efforts into ensuring the safety of those remaining.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her higher goals inform her every action, every major life decision, every choice she could possibly make runs through the same analytical process. Will it help protect someone on her list? If so, do it. If not, is there something she can do instead that will further her goals of protecting someone on her list? If so, do that instead. A group of evil-doers are planning to resurrect Lord Voldemort, who would surely look to revenge himself upon those who defied him? They must be stopped, for her family’s sake. If everyone is perfectly safe and there are no threats on the horizon, then - sure, perhaps she can forgive herself an occasional dalliance.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The man above her thrusts himself into her one last time, breathing heavily and kissing her fiercely as he comes with a groan. His weight is comfortingly heavy as he collapses in a spent heap on top of her. Her body is still shaking from the aftermath of a shockingly intense orgasm, and her brain is momentarily stunned into silence before immediately attempting to process how letting Draco Malfoy fuck her on a mat in a safehouse in France aligns with her mental framework.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The short analysis suggests that it doesn’t. The longer analysis suggests that it really, really doesn’t. Did it help keep her family safe? Definitely not. Was there something else she could have done instead to help keep her family safe? Most definitely.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he looks down at her with a little smile, she blinks rapidly, trying to analyze his face for any trace of emotion. Is he - gloating? Amused? Snarky? Indifferent? Unimpressed? Full of hatred? Preparing to send letters to his old Slytherin mates to brag about his conquest?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Does he want to do it again? Does he - actually not hate her?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Does she - what does she feel? What </span>
  <em>
    <span>should</span>
  </em>
  <span> she feel?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The world teeters on it’s edge and she takes an almost panicked breath as she considers the ramifications.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This - did it </span>
  <em>
    <span>mean</span>
  </em>
  <span> something?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>How had it even come to this in the first place? She hazily recalls spending most of their time together being deeply irritated with him. Or had she been?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She feels inclined to blame their first kiss.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ever since he first drunkenly grabbed her by the hips and kissed her, the entire world has seemed tilted, as though every single object has been moved one inch out of place for no discernable reason, and with no method of putting everything back in its proper place. Looking at it hurts her brain and makes her physically tremble, unsure of what to do or how to make things right again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something has to be broken within the universe, because she, clever Hermione Granger, the clever witch consistently praised for her cleverness, had somehow, inadvertently, quite uncleverly found herself </span>
  <em>
    <span>liking</span>
  </em>
  <span> Draco Malfoy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was the stuff of nightmares, a slow, insidious thing bound to ruin her, and despite being oh-so-clever, she cannot quite grasp the fundamental concepts leading to how she ended up on the floor, limbs tangled and entwined with Draco Sodding Malfoy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It - had started slowly, hadn’t it?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For someone who, as she constantly reminds herself, has always hated her, Malfoy had decided to continue spending an awful lot of time flirting with her during their stay in the cottage. Presumably he thought it would continue to annoy her, which it absolutely did.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you say, Granger - since we’re shacked up together and all, can I call you Hermione?” he had grinned at her one evening before retiring.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“No,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> she had replied, somewhat aghast and thinking any step towards making their relationship less professional would be ill advised.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Naturally, he had grinned wider, bowed in her direction, and flourished away dramatically, further convincing her that Sober Draco Malfoy was somehow more ridiculous than Drunk Draco Malfoy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Every time he invited himself to join her in her own bed, she forced her face into indifference while internally debating driving out past the anti-apparition ward and apparating to Paris before taking a portkey to London and staying in her own flat each night before repeating the process in reverse each morning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is this your adventuring satchel, Granger?” he asked one afternoon with a condescending laugh, and she immediately stiffened as he toyed with her belongings. “It’s hideous, I’ll have you know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he started to open her bag, she quickly snatched it back and glared at him. “It’s not hideous, and don’t touch my things, Malfoy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> hideous. It hardly accentuates your lovely cheekbones whatsoever.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Against her will, she almost blushed and simultaneously glared harder, despite knowing that a reaction was exactly what he wanted from her. She immediately wrenched her expression back to indifference and mumbled some response to the effect of shoulder bags having zero possible effect on facial structure.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He consistently smirked at her facial contortions, and his smugness was more than enough to convince her to continue ever onwards with the exhausting practice of occlumency. Her face stayed mostly calm, but her insides stayed boiling.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The kiss that she is confident he has no memory of had lingered in her mind, and she couldn’t help but feel inclined to try it again. It was ill-conceived, and he obviously would have attempted to stick his tongue down literally anybody’s throat at the time, but yet it lingered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dead Ron In Her Head had been extremely put off by the concept. Evil Hermione, however, had been chanting happily in her brain, cheering her on, while the rest of her had only felt more deeply disturbed and off-kilter with each passing day.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thinking back, she had felt continually stunned that even as he learned more about the potential dangers at hand, he showed no indication that he was going to change his mind about participating in the operation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is one example of a runeknife. It is kept under strict guard at the Ministry. They’re all dangerous, and all different - so it won’t look exactly like this, but the concept is the same. See here - the runes have different meanings and purposes for each knife, and each has a different activation process. They’re generally used for dark magic rituals, though obviously there have not been many opportunities for study, as their owners tend to guard them rather fiercely. We still don’t know for a fact that Sebek-ari has even been able to acquire one.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So you’re saying if I do find one, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>shouldn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>use it to cut my steak?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She brought a hand to her forehead and sighed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah, don’t worry Granger. If I find one laying about, I’ll be sure to bring it to you straight away so you can provide me with your expert instructions. Boss me around, please, I’m sure I am quite at your disposal. Tell me, what sorts of evil magicks was this one used for?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If she could travel back in time and inform Teenaged Hermione that one day Draco Malfoy would be complimenting her decision-making abilities while studying ancient magical rituals and making sex eyes at her, surely she would have slapped herself silly and recommended a permanent relocation to the Janus Thickey Ward at St. Mungo’s.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Distressingly, looking back on it, she had slowly begun to spend more and more time accidentally smiling at his dumb jokes and enjoying conversations with him and studying mythology with him and </span>
  <em>
    <span>liking </span>
  </em>
  <span>him, of all people. She did her best to remind herself that it was probably just a psychological effect of their proximity, his annoying physical attractiveness, and her own suddenly reemerging sexual desires, and that she could very easily put her occlumency skills to use and sequester these odd little </span>
  <em>
    <span>feelings</span>
  </em>
  <span> off in the back of her mind where they could dwell with memories of Ron.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One evening, she somehow found herself enthusiastically explaining the concept of her cover mission to Egypt. When she noted that he was watching her with something of a smirk (or maybe more of a smile), she paused and frowned at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do go on, Granger,” he offered, at least appearing to seem interested.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well,” she continued, watching him dubiously. “All major efforts seeking the Eye have been focused on the Tomb of Ra, for obvious reasons. I intend on beginning my search in Sekhmet’s chamber.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To her surprise, he nodded enthusiastically. “The Gryffindor Goddess! That’s what I’ve been calling her. Come to think of it, the moniker works just as well for you, doesn’t it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She had been too startled to even blush. “Why - and when-?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He grinned and quirked an eyebrow in such a way that gave her a funny feeling in her stomach. “I’ve been reading the ancient mythology book you brought me. It’s not bad, actually. I’ve been calling her that because she’s the warrior lioness who always wears red, obviously. Bit of a mean streak too, not unlike you once again. Not bad, eh?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right,” she agreed tentatively, still frowning at him and not particularly liking the peculiar pleasurable feelings bubbling inside her. She tried to take a deep breath and focus on her occlumency, but frankly the concept of compartmentalizing herself was growing rather too exhausting to maintain.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She had been sure he was messing with her again. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I bet those ancient tombs will be loaded with old wards for you to crack - you really are living that Agatha Vixen life, Granger. I can just imagine you defeating a sphynx in a battle of wits while simultaneously defeating a rampaging army of mummies. Very sexy! What will you do with the Eye once you find it? Planning to take over the world?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once she finds it indeed! Woefully, she was forced to acknowledge that he was projecting more confidence in her plan than Devlin, even.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, there is some debate amongst scholars about the Eye’s magical properties. Most believe it’s some sort of weapon, though I’m more inclined to believe it has a highly potent healing capacity. I’m sure I would study those effects before beginning my reign of terror.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Naturally,” he nodded seriously. “I’m sure you would be a most terrifying Dark Lord. Let me tell you, if I was the one with the all-powerful magical artifact, I’d use it to ensure all ugly satchels are permanently banished. I’ll be ruthless, I assure you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She rolled her eyes and checked her smile as he grinned at her. She prepared to respond with a witty retort about what an awful, pampered Dark Lord he would make when she found herself somewhat distracted in a study of his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She had certainly noticed that he looks a lot younger when he smiles, and less haunted than the first night they spoke at the bar. The sharp angles of his face seem to have softened into something more gentle. His eyes, she noted, often so world weary, are a deep, devastating grey, but somewhat flecked with gold around the iris, and-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He held her gaze with a leering smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m going to sleep,” she announced before rushing off to the sound of his mirthful laughter behind her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ron would be furious about these little developments, which his disembodied voice constantly reminded her in her head, all the while arguing with Evil Hermione, and frankly it quickly became exhausting. Even with occlumency, she found it difficult to make both non-existent voices shut up while simultaneously trying not to step directly into any of Malfoy’s little traps.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Teaching him basic self-defense was surely a tactical error, despite the temporary catharsis socking him in the stomach provided. All the </span>
  <em>
    <span>touching</span>
  </em>
  <span> seemed to set her nerves on fire, and she was sure that he could tell. She could practically see it in his condescending smirk. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he kissed her for what he thought was the first time, she stared down at him, legs entwined with his as she attempted to stitch her thoughts together into something coherent and debated what to do. She nearly convinced herself that he was correct - once he gets to Egypt he will have a wand more often than not. She herself has only used hand to hand combat occasionally. Actually physically teaching him was probably overkill, no?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She squeezed his neck in the crook of her elbow for just a moment until he startled and slapped at her arm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“See?” she explained, quickly releasing him and smirking slightly as he glared at her and rubbed at his neck. “That’s the difference. An air-choke will take much longer to cause a loss of consciousness, if you manage it at all. A blood-choke, on the other hand, causes blood circulation to be disrupted in the brain. Properly applied, I could take out even someone as large as your old chum Goyle in a matter of seconds.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Blood-choking,” he laughed, massaging his neck and grinning again, always grinning. “Sounds like some sort of dark sexy magic, doesn’t it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She continued to roll her eyes and tried to hide her blushes, annoyed at how quickly she seemed to lose the advantage during the battles of interacting with him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It -  would still be an awful idea, no matter the fact that his lips were just as soft and confident as she remembered. Even more awful, since she somehow managed to get disturbingly comfortable around him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It wouldn’t mean anything,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Evil Hermione regularly reminded her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You deserve to have a little fun, don’t you? And he can surely provide it for you.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When his fingertips gently trailed up her skin, she shivered, almost desperately.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m going to hurt you,</span>
  </em>
  <span> his beautiful grey eyes flecked with gold seemed to tell her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>But you don’t care.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was right, she didn’t. The universe was broken, her cleverness was a lie, and she reached up to hold him steady and pulled his face down to hers. Their lips crashed together in a cacophony of gnashing teeth, of rustling clothing, of heavy breaths and deep, husky groans.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She felt a familiar throbbing deep inside her, gasping as he shoved her tank top over her head and fastened his lips to her left breast, nipping and sucking and grinding his hips against her until she was nearly panting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As his fingers teased her, she tried to tell her brain to stop reminding her that he had probably practiced this maneuver on dozens of women before her, and really she could be any anonymous woman and his actions would be the same, but then he twisted his fingers </span>
  <em>
    <span>just so</span>
  </em>
  <span> and her brain decided to take a short vacation as her eyes fluttered shut and a little moan of pleasure escaped her throat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he slowly pressed himself into her, she gasped at the exquisite fullness of the feeling. Once fully buried inside her, he paused, face hovering just above hers and gazing at her with an arrogant, adorable, victorious little smile on his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A strand of platinum blond hair was hanging loose about his face, and his eyes were intense and stormy, and she found herself thinking that he looked devastatingly handsome. If he were anyone else, or indeed if she were, she might have reached a hand up to cup his cheek or brush the strand of his hair out of his eyes and smiled back at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But they are them, so she moved her hands to his shoulders and dug her nails into his skin, encouraging him to move, which he did, thrusting his hips with expert precision and touching her in all the right places until she was squirming underneath him and seeing stars behind her eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The very moment she started to shudder so delightfully, breath coming in sharp little panting gasps, she could nearly feel him smirking with his entire body.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His pace picked up as she shivered, thrusts growing more and more erratic, and he kissed her deeply as he came, groaning desperately into her mouth, and she held him close as he shuddered heavily on top of her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As her heart rate slowed and he rested his forehead against hers, her sluggish brain seemed to turn itself back on. She quickly tried to catch her breath and organize her thoughts. Of </span>
  <em>
    <span>course</span>
  </em>
  <span> he was good. She had known he would be, after practicing his way across all of Paris. It didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>change</span>
  </em>
  <span> anything.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was good, and it was fun, and she almost maybe felt a little happy, and this-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This -</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This - it had to </span>
  <em>
    <span>mean</span>
  </em>
  <span> something, didn’t it?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This - it doesn’t have to </span>
  <em>
    <span>mean</span>
  </em>
  <span> anything.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione blinks up at Malfoy, still attempting to quickly piece together how she got to this point. Her body is still fairly quaking in the aftermath of their coupling.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That is - well, we’re allowed to have a little fun, aren’t we?” he continues, watching her warily.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She continues to stare at him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her stomach clenches. Her muscles are trembling and his cock is literally in the process of softening inside her. She is distantly aware that she should have expected he would want to establish a clear boundary, but the immediacy of it somehow stings more than she had anticipated.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of </span>
  <em>
    <span>course</span>
  </em>
  <span> it would only be about sex for him. She knew that from the beginning. Even if he didn’t exactly hate her anymore, which itself was certainly not a proven fact, she was nothing more than a willing holster to store his cock.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was just a bit of fun. It didn’t mean anything. Nothing has changed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She nods at him and tells herself that she doesn’t care.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was just one cathartic shag, after all. She expects to return to her carefully controlled equilibrium at any moment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he pulls out of her with a satisfied groan, she shudders, she closes her eyes, and she waits.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She fucks him one more time that evening just to be sure it is out of her system, and she waits.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She fucks him again in the morning, reminds herself that it is purely physical, it doesn’t mean anything, it doesn’t matter, it’s just a bit of fun, and she waits.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Protect Harry and Ginny. Protect the Weasleys. Protect her parents.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She completely ignores her higher goals and her analytical process as she fucks him again and again and it is glorious and awful and she resignedly admits that, in hindsight, it may have been somewhat ambitious to think that one cathartic shag would resolve all of her problems.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The world shifts another inch out of place, and when she is deeply at a loss and feeling overwhelmed, she shuts her eyes and fucks Malfoy one more time. It helps for a time, and when his weight is heavy on top of her and she is focusing on just him, only him and the feel of him inside her, her mind seems to shut itself off. But only for a time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When it’s over and she comes back to herself, everything has shifted yet another inch out of place and her brain feels like it’s cracking trying to understand </span>
  <em>
    <span>why.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bloody hell. You’re supposed to be smarter than this,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Dead Ron In Her Head grumps at her, and she decides to let Evil Hermione In Her Head take up this particular battle while she stays out of it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sleeps in her bed every night, and she reminds herself that it is only sex. He had been quite clear that it didn’t mean anything to him, but the last man she spent so many nights with was Ron, and that had meant </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She tries her hardest to shove thoughts of Ron and the deep, cavernous hole in her heart left by his absence away into the farthest depths of her mind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For some reason, the frustrating man continues to try and blur the boundaries </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> created. He kisses her deeply, almost feelingly, and sometimes he takes his slow, sweet time fucking her. Sometimes she lets him, and sometimes she lets herself forget that he still probably hates her and that none of it </span>
  <em>
    <span>means</span>
  </em>
  <span> anything. It is exactly like when he devoted himself to annoying her via flirting upon their arrival at the cottage, tactically maneuvering himself to pounce upon the barest hint of a reaction from her. If she didn’t know better she would think that he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>making love</span>
  </em>
  <span> to her, the git, and she tries to will herself to be as unfeeling as him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But - it becomes increasingly difficult, and she finds herself unable to stop whispering to him in the darkness. She notices that when she jerks awake, torn from sleep by an awful memory, his arms tighten around her and she lets herself feel comforted, if only for a moment, despite knowing it is a false, fleeting feeling. She notices that he doesn’t sleep much either, and she wonders whose nightmares are worse, and startlingly she finds that she wants to take his hand and tell him that they’ll both be fine, eventually, they had just been </span>
  <em>
    <span>so young,</span>
  </em>
  <span> too young to fight in a war, and how could the world have expected them to simply overcome it all and just </span>
  <em>
    <span>move on?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stop thinking so hard,” he mumbles, pulling her back flush against his chest and nestling his stiffening cock against her arse. He presses a kiss to her neck and she sighs, turning into him and losing herself in the </span>
  <em>
    <span>feeling.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s almost nice, sometimes, the little life they are living away from the world, though she feels the shaky foundation trembling beneath them. They study and they fight and they practice spells and they shag, and despite the fact that in the light of day he refuses to acknowledge the fact that they’re shagging, she almost lets herself relax. Almost. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She reluctantly admits to herself that it is a little more difficult to have a meaningless fling with someone who she-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She knows their time in the cottage is short, and when she gets a coitus-interruptus phone call from Roger she thinks she might need to pick up a bottle of wine or two afterwards. It would surely be a fitting end to her non-relationship with Malfoy, after all - getting drunk and shagging one or two more times before shrugging and moving on. Maybe she’ll even tell him the truth about the first night of their reunion, if only to see his reaction.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then again, some sinful little part of her mind imagines continuing the dalliance in Egypt. Sneaking off to fuck hastily in hotel rooms or abandoned alleyways or ruins of ancient cities, experience heightened by the sense of danger, knowing that if they get caught it could mean the end-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Malfoy will leave for Cairo on Wednesday via portkey. From there, he’s to go to the Museum of Mythological Magicks on Thursday and connect with Astoria Greengrass. She visits for tea in the museum lounge every Thursday with her sister. You’ll follow two weeks later - we don’t want to raise any suspicions. Check in with Amir when you arrive and go about your Beauxbatons business. Don’t make contact until we deem it necessary, likely after Malfoy gets an initial look about the Greengrass Estate. I’ll be coordinating with the ICW on the logistics.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She blinks at Roger as she digests his words.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Astoria Greengrass,” she repeats cautiously, somewhat recalling the girl from Hogwarts. Much kinder and surely more earnest than her older sister, from what she remembers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her stomach churns uncomfortably.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s right. They dated for a time, didn’t you know? She still fancies him, apparently.” Roger makes a face indicating that he fundamentally cannot comprehend the concept of a woman being legitimately interested in someone like Draco Malfoy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something in her stomach begins to curdle, and for a moment an image of his face from mere hours ago flashes across her mind, looking up at her and smiling while doing unspeakably delightful things with his tongue as the steam of the shower billowed around them, strong hands grasping her hips tightly. She had grabbed a fistful of his wet hair with one hand before pulling him up to kiss her deeply, tasting herself on his tongue, and as he pressed into her against the wall something deep inside her started to coil, and-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She frowns deeply. “No, I don’t believe I knew that. I had assumed we would go through Zabini. They were friendly at Hogwarts, after all.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Roger shrugs. “Zabini’s a duster. He’s far less reliable. Besides, if we’re right and they are in fact using the Greengrass Estate as a base of operations, what better way to gain access than through an actual Greengrass?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She keeps her face steady, fighting against the bile threatening to rise from her stomach up through her throat. “...I see.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Roger seems to regard her closely for a moment. “Is there a problem?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Yes!</span>
  </em>
  <span>’ she wants to shout, feeling her carefully constructed cottage life beginning to unspool, leaving tattered remnants of the threads of her control in its wake.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course not. I just wonder on what terms he and Astoria ended their relationship,” she replies steadily. “He may not be inclined to pick the relationship back up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He scoffs at that. “Don’t be ridiculous - we all know what he’s like. You told him about the Greengrass family being involved. I bet he’s been chomping at the bit to get back to Astoria - she’s quite pretty you know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I did mention them, yes, however-” She grits her teeth. Malfoy hadn’t had any particular reaction when she had mentioned the Greengrass family that she can recall.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Besides, it’s your job to convince him that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>should</span>
  </em>
  <span> be inclined. We’ll have Zabini as a backup option, but it’s far from ideal.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My job-!” she narrows her eyes, heart racing at the thought of convincing Malfoy to run straight into the arms of a former lover. She takes a deep breath and levels Roger with a stare. “This doesn’t feel right, Roger. It’s rather obscene, isn’t it? I - I really don’t like this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shrugs at that. “It’s the plan, Hermione. It is what it is, like it or not.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Look - I’ll tell him the concept. We should leave it to him to accept, shouldn’t we?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If he doesn’t accept, he doesn’t get a pardon,” Roger replies nonchalantly, leaning back in his chair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She tries to steady her hands from shaking. “Right. I’ll let you know what he says.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know, Hermione,” he starts hesitantly before offering her a lightly flirtatious grin. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were falling for his notorious little playboy tricks. You haven’t gone off and become one of his conquests, have you? It’d hurt my feelings after all the times you’ve rejected me, you know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She instinctively wants to push back on being labeled a ‘conquest,’ though she supposes it’s accurate enough. None of it had meant anything and she could have been anybody, she reminds herself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She offers Roger a cold half-smile in return, really not in the mood for his particular brand of inappropriate flirtation at the moment. “Well, at least you’ll have the comforting smiles of your wife to ease your pain when you return home. I’ll go talk to Malfoy and will be in touch.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His smile falters for a moment, clearly unprepared for a more blunt rejection than usual, before he nods, and she spins on her heels to depart, suddenly in a desperate hurry to return to the cottage in the countryside.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As she drives up to the house, she takes a deep steadying breath and tries not to run through the different scenarios of his reactions which she thought up on the way back. She tries not to imagine his face falling - or worse, grinning - at the prospect of a reunion with his ex-girlfriend. She finds herself dearly wishing she had agreed to let the man keep a bottle of firewhiskey in the cottage.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She breathes slowly. She focuses on occlumency and calming herself. She is in control. Everything is fine. This is good.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looks up when she walks in with a stupid smile on his face, but it falters upon her entrance.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well? What’d he say then?” he asks, voice steady.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She - </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>doesn’t want to tell him. “We can review after dinner, I think.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How about you tell me now?” he asks, stepping towards her with a smirk on his face. “Please don’t tell me this is the part of our story where you confess you’re actually married with a couple of little brats and our horrid love affair must come to an abrupt end.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Love affair! She wants to scoff at him, but keeps her face as expressionless as she can, processing her own reaction from behind a thick layer of magic. Love affair - it almost feels as though he is rubbing her face in the fact that he could never, ever possibly fall in love with someone like her. It was always only ever about </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking</span>
  </em>
  <span> between them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It didn’t have to </span>
  <em>
    <span>mean</span>
  </em>
  <span> anything, after all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She begins to provide the details, watching him closely for a reaction. When she mentions his apparent ex-girlfriend Astoria Greengrass, he blinks at her, and she can almost see the gears turning behind his eyes. It’s - not exactly outrage, nor is it enthusiasm, not yet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She refuses to blink, pouring her energies into calming herself even as her mental shields feel as though they are crumbling while she outlines the approach.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He makes a little quip about how much less invested in the relationship he was compared to Astoria, and she wants to scoff at him. Surely she doesn’t require any more reminders about just how uninvested in relationships he can be. She explains the logistics of the plan, and every time he scoffs or sneers her heart seems to crack just a little bit, and he moves a step closer as if to suffocate her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She is perfectly capable of acknowledging that Roger was right - the job is fairly perfect for him based upon what the Ministry knows of his character, and she certainly hasn’t forgotten watching him flirt his way through the Parisian pubs. She imagines him flirting with Astoria as aggressively as he flirted with </span>
  <em>
    <span>her,</span>
  </em>
  <span> grinning and inviting himself into her bed and prancing about with no shirt on to equal success. She forces herself to inhale slowly as that familiar sickening feeling rises in her stomach.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you want me to do it? Run along and be a little whore for your Ministry?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>No! Just say no,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she mentally pleads with him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Say you won’t do it. I’ll find another way to stop them, somehow, I swear it. It’s monstrous, it’s too dangerous, and I want you to stay safe. I’ll protect you, you daft idiot, please don’t do this-</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He is so close now that their heavy breaths are mingling together in the air.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It doesn’t matter what I want.” She looks him in the eye and lets out a tired exhale. It stings faintly to admit the fact out loud.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So - what was all this then? What was all the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking</span>
  </em>
  <span> about, hmm? Some sort of test? Wanted to make sure my seduction skills were up to snuff, did you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She stares at him for a moment, unsure of what he wants. Her mind races along with her heart. She is sure he is mocking her, or more likely wants to make sure that she clearly remembers the ground rules he had set after the first time they fucked. If he wants her to admit that she wants him just to throw it in her face when he goes to Astoria-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This - was nothing.” She thinks her voice doesn’t waver too much as she tries to convince herself of the truth in her words. In </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> words. “We were just having a little fun.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It didn’t mean anything. It never did. She knew that all along. He had been perfectly clear on the subject.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His eyes glint sharply. In a moment, as if wanting to bait her, he rushes forward and his lips crash into hers with a sudden violence. She gasps and hardly has time to respond before he pulls back and smirks at her witheringly, and her hand twitches at her side wanting to slap him, but - she could have been anybody, she reminds herself. She could have been anyone and he would have happily fucked her, and none of it meant anything, and she is more the fool for almost believing that it might have. He had warned her from the beginning, but she had nearly managed to trick herself into believing that he didn’t hate her, and her mistake is rearing its ugly head and gutting her through and through.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She can feel her heartbeat reverberate throughout her entire body and she hates that he makes her feel like this, like everything is rapidly spiraling out of control. Her brain feels prepared to crack under the weight of it all, and her exhaustive attempt at occlumency seems doomed to collapse.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He breathes a heavy puff of air against that sensitive spot on her neck as he shifts his hips against her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You want me to fuck you, don’t you? You do, I can tell. One last time?” he whispers arrogantly, a growl in her ear.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hates him in that moment for saying those words aloud almost as much as she hates herself for knowing that it’s the truth. She rests her hands heavily against his chest as if to push him back but she shivers against him and exhales shakily as his hands trail along her skin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Despite all of his flirting and all of the fucking and all of the whispers in the night, she should have known that deep down he will always hate her. But somehow, despite all her supposed cleverness, for some reason she doesn’t really hate him at all, she wants him, she has overwhelmingly confusing feelings about him, she-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She groans as he takes her hard from behind against the wall and she tries to focus on the feel of him inside her as if to memorize him since this will surely be the last time. He sets a punishing pace and his hands grasp her hips hard enough to bruise, and she only wishes that it hurt </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span> to remind her of her mistakes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She wants to glance back at him, but she keeps her forehead heavy against the wall as he thrusts roughly into her, eyes screwed tightly shut, because she desperately doesn’t want to look at him and see the hatred she is sure is in his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He fucks her like he hates her, and it makes her blood thrum and sing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She wishes he hadn’t gotten to know her body so well, because he knows all of the right places to touch and pinch and kiss and bite. She wants it to hurt and she hates that he’s going to make her come again, and as the world shatters around her she feels almost monstrous, gasping and nearly sobbing as she quakes around him. He follows her off the edge a moment later with a strangled cry, and for just a moment she lets herself imagine a world where he might hold her hand. A world where he would refuse to go to Egypt and would simply stay with her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But this isn’t that world. He pulls out of her and she sighs at the sudden empty feeling, arms shaking and not wanting to look at him and see his eyes. Eyes of a man who got exactly what he wanted from her and would be happily moving on in a matter of days.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hears his footsteps walking away and slowly slides down the wall, inch by inch, falling to her knees and taking a shuddering breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Good, she tries to tell herself. This is good. One last time to fuck themselves out of each others systems. It’s over.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s over and she can go back to normal.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She can find her equilibrium again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hears the door to his bedroom click, and she squeezes her eyes shut for a moment. When she opens them, everything feels wrong. The colors seem too bright, and every nearby object is surrounded by a shimmering halo. It hurts her eyes and her heart is racing and she feels queasy and-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Every object in the entire world shifts another inch, then another, then they flip around on themselves and then they shatter into millions of shards behind her eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She blinks again and shakes her head, trying to clear it of any ridiculous emotions and wall them off behind layers of occlumency. She takes an almost desperate, gasping breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She needs to go.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This is good.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’ll be fine.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It meant nothing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her stomach curdles and seems to turn itself inside out and her hands tremble and she feels sick.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She needs to go.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’ll see him in Egypt and they’ll be - fine. It never meant anything anyway. She has more important things to focus on. She has goals.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shakily pulls her uncomfortably damp panties back up, hastily grabs her satchel with shaking hands and practically sprints out the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Good, she tells herself, eyes stinging somewhat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This is good.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Hermione 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Keep Harry and Ginny safe. Keep the Weasleys safe. Keep her parents safe.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Keep Draco Malfoy - something.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione does her best to cram all thoughts of Draco Malfoy into a tidy mental box and shove him into a storage unit somewhere in the back of her mind where memories of the war and of Ron are safely stowed away, though it rapidly proves quite impossible. It’s as though his entire existence is corrosive enough to leak into the front of her consciousness, and whenever she tries to stuff him away again he leaves a little trail of darkness behind, like a stain she will never be able to scrub clean.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She tries to remember what her morning routine used to be like before she started fucking him first thing upon waking. It used to be somewhat meditative. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That</span>
  </em>
  <span> is probably why she has felt so lacking in control - she just needs to calm her mind, and everything will feel right again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She wakes up alone in her flat after a limited quantity of sleep, and she doesn’t think about how he is probably already in Cairo, if he didn’t decide to simply not go at all. She can imagine him shrugging with a grin and returning to France instead, hopping from bar to bar hitting on the nearest pretty woman. She reminds herself that despite her strange little semi-positive feelings about him, throughout the course of his life he has never shown a particular inclination towards bravery, or doing the right thing for the sake of some lofty ideals.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She forces herself to get out of bed and she does deep breathing exercises. She prepares her morning Earl Grey, and as the water warms in the kettle she conducts a quick exercise routine consisting of pushups, situps, and squats performed rapidly enough that she is short of breath fairly quickly. She sips her tea and she doesn’t miss </span>
  <em>
    <span>him </span>
  </em>
  <span>at all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When she arrives at her London office, she glances around the room sharply. The room is less of an office and more of a personal library, with bookcases lining the walls laden with extension charms. It may be a tad paranoid of her, but she has layered the room with protective spells to ensure only those who she permits to enter are allowed to do so. Harry, Ginny, and the rest of the Weasleys can come and go as they please, and she adjusts the spells when expecting a client, but otherwise it is something of a safe haven from the world.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Despite her confidence in her spellwork, something about the room feels - off, though she cannot quite place her finger on the reason. Everything seems to be in the place where she left it. She moves to her desk in the center of the room and slumps heavily into her chair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There is a single folder on her desk. She stares at it, trying to recall if she had put it away the last time she was here or not. Generally, she keeps her office as tidy as anywhere else within her control, but this particular folder tends to receive some special attention, particularly after a drink or two. It’s the folder compiling everything she knows about Ron’s murderer, Violet Evilian. It is one that she takes out often enough in order to stare at it intensely from time to time, as if willing it to tell her something - why the woman killed Ron, where she was hiding, what she was doing. Rumors have been circulating that Violet has linked up with Sebek-ari recently, and Hermione wonders what might happen if they come face to face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She has imagined the encounter quite violently over the years. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This is for Ron,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she would say, raising her wand-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hesitantly, with Ron weighing heavily on her mind, she opens her desk drawer and stares vacantly at her little leftover memento from him. A little black box which she had found in his pocket after his death. She has never opened it, but she knows exactly what it contains - the promise of a future never meant to be.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She takes the box out of the drawer and sighs, closing her eyes tightly and missing Ron with a deep ache in her heart. She is vaguely confident that if Ron is somehow still out there watching over her, then he would be having himself quite a laugh at her expense on account of this Draco Malfoy business.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The sharp tapping of an owl on her window interrupts her ongoing staring contest with the little box. It is a letter from Roger confirming Malfoy’s arrival in Egypt, and she - well, she isn’t entirely sure what to feel. No small amount of surprise that he decided to go through with the operation after all, certainly, despite her earlier mental commentary on his moral character, or lack thereof.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She throws herself heavily into research and preparation for the next two weeks in advance of her departure for Egypt. She even arranges a quick visit to Hogsmeade for a visit with Harry and Ginny.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They meet at the Three Broomsticks, much to the delight of local students happy to spy not only their famous professor, but a second member of his famous Trio.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry and Ginny seem happy, and some selfish part of her notes that fact somewhat begrudgingly. Not that they don’t deserve all the happiness in the world, of course, but when she looks at them, happy and well adjusted and normal, she can’t help but wonder what’s wrong with </span>
  <em>
    <span>her, </span>
  </em>
  <span>stuck with nothing but her inability to sleep through the night and her easily shattered equilibrium.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ginny updates her on young James, and her thoughts drift sadly to Ron for a moment, as they are wont to do. She sighs at the empty space in the booth next to her, thinking of the little black box burning a hole through her desk. It feels like an uncomfortable scraping against an old scar that never healed properly, thinking of the passive aggressive arguments she and Ron would get into on the subject. He wanted kids </span>
  <em>
    <span>soon, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and lots of them, and just imagine their children going to Hogwarts with Harry and Ginny’s kids, and his mum would be so excited, and he already had ideas for names, and she would mumble something about how maybe they could try getting Crookshanks The Second first before frantically searching for a bottle of liquor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She vaguely wonders if Ron was still alive who would have won the argument. Five years later and she still is not sure if she wants children, possibly ever. An ugly, awful part of her that constantly remembers their arguments quietly wonders if she and Ron would have even been able to manage putting together something resembling a happy marriage.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If he was still alive.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It feels like such a deep, gutting betrayal to the memory of the man she loved that her heart clenches tightly in her chest and she almost wants to cry. Her hand trembles somewhat as she reaches for her drink.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry observes her studiously, narrowing his eyes slightly. “All right, Hermione?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Nowhere near.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m fine, Harry. I’ve just been a little overworked lately.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry frowns somewhat. “Maybe you should skip this trip, yeah? You look exhausted.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t be rude, Harry! All work, and no play? She probably just needs to get herself laid,” Ginny laughs while Harry and Hermione turn similar shades of crimson. “How long has it been since you stopped seeing old man Devlin, anyway? Please don’t tell me you’ve gone this entire time without!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her blush deepens. As Ginny grins evilly, she finishes off her first drink, orders another one and tries not to think about </span>
  <em>
    <span>him,</span>
  </em>
  <span> fingers leaving ugly, violent, wonderful bruises on her hips, thrusting into her angrily against the wall until she couldn’t help but cry out-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ahh, you haven’t! Well you can’t blush like that and not tell us who the lucky bloke is!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Or - maybe don’t talk about it at all, eh?” offers Harry, still cringing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her face feels hot and she shakes her head, not even sure how to broach the concept of her ill-advised affair. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Do you remember our childhood enemy who bullied us for years? The one whose family tried desperately to murder us on multiple occasions? The Death Eater one? Of course you do! Well, he hates me, but I shagged him. A lot. It was sort of cathartic and fantastic, until suddenly it very much wasn’t, and I sent him away to be a whore because I’m not a good person at all, I’m something of a monster.’</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She almost instinctively begins to place her mental barriers into place before reminding herself that Harry and Ginny are her </span>
  <em>
    <span>family.</span>
  </em>
  <span> She certainly doesn’t need occlumency shields with them - and besides, Harry is frowning curiously at her as the emotions vanish and reappear on her face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It - was nothing serious, and it’s over already anyway,” she mutters, staring desperately into her glass and avoiding her friends’ eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ginny’s laughter trails off. “Ah, that’s too bad. Well, Harry has a new colleague taking on the ancient runes professor role - Professor Babbling retired, you know. And ancient runes professors are sort of your type, aren’t they?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry gives her a long-suffering sigh. “His name is Duncan - you might remember he was a few years ahead of us? Ravenclaw.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Used to thrash Harry at quidditch. It was before I joined the team, after all!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, that’s not exactly true-” Harry begins to protest as Ginny nudges him, and it is all so delightfully adorable that it makes her cringe.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe we could introduce you when you’re back from Egypt?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She glances over at the empty seat next to her again and sighs heavily, desperately wishing, despite that awful voice in the back of her mind reminding her of all their problems, that Ron was still alive. She suddenly feels nearly overwhelmed with exhaustion. “Yeah, maybe, Gin.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She can feel Harry’s thoughtful gaze upon her, and she quickly downs the contents of her glass and orders another one.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As if sensing a moment charging, Ginny glances between the two of them before smiling lightly. “Right, maybe when you’re back then. Well I’d best be off - we left James with Hagrid for the day. James is at that age where everything ends up in his mouth, you know? I’m a little worried he’ll end up accidentally eating a pygmy puff or something. I’ll leave you two to catch up for a bit, yeah?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>An image of her never-meant-to-be child with Ron pops into her head for a moment, maybe a little girl with fiery red hair grinning and stuffing things in her mouth, and she feels a little queasy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks Gin - good to see you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As she watches Ginny depart, she can feel Harry look at her for a beat, green eyes thoughtful and slightly concerned.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Keep Harry safe.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She tries to formulate her thoughts. She is forbidden by magically binding contracts to outright tell him about the Protectorate’s plans, but she </span>
  <em>
    <span>has</span>
  </em>
  <span> to warn him. If she (and Malfoy) fail at their task, then surely vengeance would be at the top of the resurrected Dark Lord’s to-do list.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Harry, I-” She hesitates, unsure of what to say or how to say it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I had a strange dream the other night,” he interrupts with a frown. “I still get them from time to time, you know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She frowns, instantly apprehensive. “You’ve never mentioned that. Is...</span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> in them?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shrugs, shockingly nonchalant. “Sort of. It feels like him, Voldemort. Like it used to, but farther away, like an echo. I don’t worry about them too much, really. Sometimes I wonder if these dreams are just my brain trying to fill the gap left by the horcrux, you know? This one felt different though. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You</span>
  </em>
  <span> were in it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She blinks at him, startled. “Me? Why? Harry, what - do you want to tell me about it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He nods hesitantly. “You were walking into darkness, but surrounded by a fire that you couldn’t see. Someone else was with you - a man, I think, but he was like a shadow next to you. At first I thought it might’ve been Ron, but I’m not so sure. Then - another figure appeared, and it was Voldemort. It was strange. It wasn’t really him, he isn’t back, but I could </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span> it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Harry-” she starts, fully prepared to warn him about Sebek-ari and his ritual plans.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s not all, Hermione,” Harry continues earnestly. “Voldemort, he appeared straight from the ground, but - suddenly the fire closed in on all of you. You, your shadow companion, Voldemort - all of you were wiped out by the fire and there was nothing left. Nothing but ashes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She leans forward uneasily and replies in a low voice. “Harry, look, I - can’t give you all of the details, you know that. But this - this could be big, alright? I have to warn you before I leave for Egypt. It’s Sebek-ari, he-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry rubs at his scar absently. “I see where this is going, Hermione, I really do. I can’t just change my entire life around because of some vague threats, can I? And you shouldn’t have to either. I have a life here, and a good one at that. James is turning five, and Gin and I - we’ve been talking about trying for another one, and - well I’ve lost enough in my life because of dark wizards, haven’t I? Haven’t we all?” He pointedly looks at the empty spot next to her, a painful expression on his face, and for a moment the heart-wrenching agony of their mutual loss nearly overwhelms her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of </span>
  <em>
    <span>course</span>
  </em>
  <span> Harry, but-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, and I’m good at it. I’m preparing an entire new generation of students to be ready to fight if they need to. I’m doing my part, yeah? If something happens, I’ll deal with it. And you know if you really do need me, you only have to ask, but - well, I’m worried about you, Hermione.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She gapes at him, sluggishly wondering when exactly the tables had turned. It had always been </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span> job to maternalistically fuss over him and Ron. She was always </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and certainly never needed any such babysitting. “Worried about me? I’m - fine, Harry. What are you worried about?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He takes a deep, shaky breath. “Well - look, even before Ron, there was something going on, wasn’t there? You - the war, it was a lot for all of us to process.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She scoffs at that, and before she can interject that she is </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine</span>
  </em>
  <span> and she only has nightmares about writhing on the Malfoy Manor drawing room floor </span>
  <em>
    <span>occasionally</span>
  </em>
  <span> and it only makes her want to drink herself unconscious </span>
  <em>
    <span>all the bloody time,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he forges onward in that ineloquently endearing manner of his.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I wonder if you couldn’t finish processing it because of what happened to Ron. It’s hard to feel safe after something like that, and you - well, you’ve never been passive about a problem, have you? You see a problem and if it seems as though there might be some potential danger, immediately you’re throwing yourself into this kind of work to keep the people you love safe. It’s the same as you were back in school, and it’s one of the many things we all love about you. But - you’re clearly doing it to the detriment of your health.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She starts to vehemently shake her head in protest, biting back a quip about how he should stop watching so many muggle psychological procedurals. “Harry, that’s-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“For Merlin’s sake, Hermione,” he interrupts feelingly. “When was the last time you got a good night’s sleep? You really do look exhausted. And - what, you think I haven’t noticed that you’re on your third drink already? We might’ve met at Madam Puddifoot’s for tea if you’re having trouble with this again.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> having trouble,” she snaps, pushing her half-empty glass forward on the table and thinking of more ridiculous old arguments with Ron while retroactively being angry with him for clearly having discussed the issue at length with Harry. “You don’t need to worry about me, Harry, I have everything under control.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sighs heavily and leans back in the booth. “Alright, Hermione. I’m here if you need me. You do know that, don’t you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m going to keep you safe no matter what,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thinks at him while nodding in response to his question. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You and Ginny and the Weasleys and my parents and-</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And-</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Looking into his sad, loving green eyes makes something twinge in her heart, and suddenly she cannot get an entire continent between them soon enough. She focuses on the fact that it is well within her power to protect him, and that is exactly what she is going to do, with or without his approval.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry’s words weigh heavily on her mind as she makes the final preparations for her departure. It’s preposterous, she tells herself. She is </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That little stain in her mind left behind by thoughts of Draco Malfoy bubbles and hisses in protest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The portkey trip is easy enough, and with a tug at her navel she arrives quite suddenly in the waiting room at the Egyptian auror office.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A slightly portly man of nearly equal height as herself looks over upon her arrival. She smiles as he approaches.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“As-salamu alaykum,” she offers in Arabic with an extension of her hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And peace be upon you as well, Hermione Granger, my friend!” greets Amir Nazari, the Egyptian Head Auror, enthusiastically grinning at her as he takes her hand softly. He glances around before inviting her into his office and casting a few quick privacy charms. “I understand I have two cases I get to assist you with this time. Is it true that I am so lucky?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It is, Amir, though I don’t expect either to be particularly easy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He grins genially at her. “Well if one of them is about our old friend Sebek-ari, then you’ll be happy to know I already have information for you. He has been in and out of Egypt over the last five years quite often, and he arrived in the country to stay nearly three months ago. We have been watching him closely. He spends a lot of time at the Greengrass Estate making angry faces at my spies. He has already tried to kill two of them, however, so I expect we won’t be having much more luck with that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s very helpful, thank you. I understand. And - ah, any sightings of Violet Evilian?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her heart tugs in her chest awaiting his response as she inevitably pictures herself sobbingly cradling Ron’s faceless corpse in her arms, her hands bright with his blood.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, not that we’ve seen-” she lets out a sharp breath of either relief or disappointment at that. “-but there is a new blond in town who has been spending time at the Estate. My people are still trying to confirm, but we believe it to be Draco Malfoy. A former Death Eater, just like Sebek-ari. I expect you’ve heard of him?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her heart sinks into her stomach, but she keeps her face impassive. She hasn’t been authorized to disclose Draco’s status to anyone, not even Amir, though she makes a note to ask Roger to do so. He should have done it himself already, but clearly is lagging in his responsibilities.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He used to make fun of my hair back at Hogwarts. I assume that’s an arrestable offense?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Amir grins. “For you, of course! Although I don’t understand what’s wrong with your hair. How mystifying.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well - it was a lot bushier back then,” she smiles wistfully at herself for feeling obliged to defend Teenage Draco’s taste in bullying strategies before accidentally picturing Adult Draco’s hand wrapped tightly in the very hair that he used to make fun of, pulling tighter and tighter until she gasped, writhing beneath him-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She clears her throat. “Have you seen him get up to anything suspicious?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Amir shrugs. “Not yet. We think he might be seeing one of the daughters - Nafty saw them, ah, getting romantic yesterday. He was quite embarrassed to report it, I’ll tell you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The sinking pit in her stomach deepens and swallows her heart whole at the thought of what ‘getting romantic’ might mean. “How lovely for them,” she mutters.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“As for the second case, I understand you want to go to the Tomb of Ra? You’ll need approval and an auror escort to go...Lucky for you, you have me! I can accompany you there whenever you like.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you. Perhaps on Tuesday? I’ll need to check-in to my hotel and settle a few things in Cairo first.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course, of course. The Eye of Ra, eh? Think you’ll really find it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shrugs, standing to take her leave. “You’ll be the first to know if I do, Amir.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He grins at her. “I expect you’ll tell my old friend Devlin before me though, won’t you? Tell me, when can I expect the wedding bells to be chiming for the two of you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her eyes widen and she feels herself blush faintly. “Ah, that - I’m afraid that’s unlikely to ever happen. Sorry to disappoint.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His face falls for a moment before he smiles again. “No, but this is wonderful news! Now you can marry my son! My second eldest is in need of a wife. Well, perhaps my third eldest. My second eldest is horribly lazy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She lets out a soft laugh and heads for the door. “Thank you as ever for your keen interest in my romantic life, Amir. Would your third eldest son like to accompany us to the tomb so you can chaperone our first date?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Amir lets out a booming guffaw. “Actually, he’s just as lazy as my second eldest. I’m afraid it may not be meant to be.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alas,” she smiles lightly. “I’ll be in touch. A pleasure, as always.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She returns to her hotel room with a frown. Thinking on potential romantic partners has soured her already sour mood, and thinking of Malfoy makes it even worse.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hadn’t even considered the fact that Roger wouldn’t have informed the local magical law enforcement team about Draco. Obviously they would be on guard about former Death Eaters unexpectedly entering the country, and she is furious at herself for not confirming the approach with Roger. She had expected him to inform the team on the ground and cannot fathom a reason as to why he did not do so.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She cringes, imagining Sebek-ari catching another spy and deciding to blame the new connection to the family who has been ‘getting romantic’ with Astoria Greengrass.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sitting in her hotel room alone is almost unbearable, as all she does is dream up new scenarios in which either Draco falls madly in love with his old paramour and lives happily ever after, or else Sebek-ari somehow discovers the plot and Draco ends up getting horribly murdered, and it will almost certainly be her own fault.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She decides to look for him and at least assure herself that he’s alright. They’ll need to connect at some point anyway, and a confusing part of her wonders if it’s not too late to convince him to back out of this absurd deal. He shouldn’t have to </span>
  <em>
    <span>whore himself</span>
  </em>
  <span> on behalf of the Ministry in order to simply be allowed to visit his own home, let alone put himself in danger interacting with people like Sebek-ari. It’s unfair, and she thinks that perhaps she should tell him so, as she should have done that last night in France.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She casts a quick spell on herself to alter her appearance before heading out into the streets of Cairo’s wizarding world. It’s Friday, and she knows that Astoria generally goes to The Happy Troll for cocktails, according to the Ministry reports on her schedule, so she quickly heads that way, heart thudding in her chest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Outside the tavern, Malfoy is as easy to spot as ever - even easier, perhaps, with his looming stature and white blond hair in the streets of Egypt. She is suddenly struck by an intense yearning to hear his voice, grateful that he is alive and well. He is not alone, of course, but she thinks she can probably manage to get him to break away for a moment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Reminiscent of the evening of their first reunion, she watches him with a different face from the shadows. He is standing with a familiar looking young woman. His face is calm and happy when he looks into the eyes of the very pretty Astoria, and she can’t help but wonder if he is acting or if this is something else, something real. His eyes are soft and his smile is sweet, and it makes her blood boil. He had never held such a lovely look in his eyes when he used to gaze at her, not even in her bed while he was deep inside her and she was coming apart around him. It had only ever been volatile and explosive between them - the gentleness is extremely at odds with her understanding of his character.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She wonders if he’s already fucking Astoria, and then she proceeds to remind herself not to care. In fact, it should be a </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span> thing if he is. It’s why they picked him for the job, after all, as Roger had said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria smiles prettily at him as they hold hands ever so sweetly, and Hermione scowls and tears herself away. Despite the fact that she accomplished her mission of confirming his status as currently being alive, she is in quite a foul mood when she returns to her hotel room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She attempts to finish her research into the Tomb of Ra, but can’t seem to focus. Instead, she pours herself a sturdy drink, then another, and then one more before falling into a restless sleep.</span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Admin note: I have a good amount of this story written and in the tinkering phase, so updates should continue to be pretty quick. Don't worry, I'm not planning on leaving you hanging off that Draco cliff for too long. Thanks for reading, hope you're enjoying!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Hermione 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>She is lying on the cold ground at Malfoy Manor, twitching and spasming and bleeding and crying.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ron is standing sadly over her. He has no face, just a hole dripping with blood and a loosely hanging skeletal jaw wrenched into something like a melancholy smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Drip.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A drop of blood lands thickly on her face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Drip.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And another.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bellatrix Lestrange has blond hair and vile purple eyes and casts another Cruciatus Curse.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The floor cracks and shatters around her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She is crying tears of blood, dark and viscous as they leak down her cheeks leaving ugly stains in their wake.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ron’s faceless body takes a step closer, leaning down to somehow press a gentle, lipless kiss to her shivering mouth before vanishing suddenly into the shadowy ether.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Violet Evilian smiles ruthlessly and curses her again with Bellatrix’s awful, unyielding wand and there is a fire in her own chest, slowly burning her up from the inside and her lungs feel charred to ashes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco is there, watching her with sad, hooded eyes, hand in hand with Astoria looking young and innocent and so very pretty in a white wedding dress. Draco takes a hasty step away from his beautiful bride and towards her, crying in pain there on ground.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>No, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she wants to tell him with a heavy sob. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Be careful, it’s dangerous here. Can’t you see what’s happening to me? I can’t protect you here.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steam hisses out of the cracks in the floor, and flickers of flames arise and dance, frolicking through the Manor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria pulls him back and kisses him with black, ashy lips-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Violet casts another fiery curse and smiles-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She twitches and screams and cries out for Draco-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He breaks away from Astoria, who fades into darkness with crying eyes and a reaching hand, but when he turns around his face is </span>
  <em>
    <span>melting,</span>
  </em>
  <span> flesh and skull liquifying in front of her eyes, and he takes a hurried step closer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>No-!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco is standing over her. He has no face, just a hole dripping with blood and a loosely hanging skeletal jaw. Somehow only his fierce, intensely sad grey eyes remain, staring at her violently.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Drip.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A drop of blood lands on her face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Drip.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shrieking laughter echoes around them, and swirling magic clashes violently in the air.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He leans down to wrap his hand around her throat and somehow press his lipless mouth to hers in a punishing kiss-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She wrenches herself awake with a strangled scream and Draco’s mangled face combined with her own absolute helplessness fresh in her mind. She immediately leans over the edge of her bed and heaves, coughing up foul tasting bile, stomach spasming as her heart races and she tries to convince herself it wasn’t real, it was just an awful dream.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She - had too much to drink last night, her body reminds her as it continues to empty itself of anything and everything. She is under quite a lot of stress, and she inadvertently had too much to drink. Dreams are rubbish, besides.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She is fine.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It - didn’t mean anything. It didn’t mean anything.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It didn’t mean anything.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She feels cold and sweaty and ill, but when her body is finished expelling the entirety of her stomach contents, she forces herself out of bed on shaky legs to prepare for the day.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She rummages through her satchel for a hangover potion and a Wide-eye Potion to deal with her aching head and her exhaustion. Even with the uncomfortable side effects of the potions making her feel unsteady and a little itchy, in addition to a shower and a cup of Earl Grey it all helps her feel vastly more human.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still, she stares at her drawn, drained looking face in the mirror and notes that all the potions in the world could do nothing to shake the dreadful unease leftover from her nightmare.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She feels a little ridiculous putting on makeup in advance of visiting an ancient ruined temple, but she plasters some on her face nonetheless to cover up her tired looking eyes. Her hands are shaking somewhat with exhaustion as she conceals the dark smudges under her eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When she looks at herself again in the mirror, it’s as though she’s an entirely different person shoved into a semi-realistic Hermione costume.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She makes a tired mental note to take a Dreamless Sleep Draught that evening. She needs to be able to focus. The Eye of Ra project is admittedly a cover, but it is still a job, and one she intends to complete to her typical high standards.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She forces a smile as she greets Amir, and he side-along apparates her to the vicinity of the Tomb of Ra.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“These old temples and tombs have a funny effect on magic,” he explains as they walk up to a guard near the entrance to the tomb who inspects their credentials. “If you try to apparate directly inside, you could very easily wind up trapped inside a wall, or drowning in an ancient well.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She nods as the guard lets them pass. “Yes, Devlin wrote about that extensively in his report. I’ve seen similar enchantments in Incan ruins of Peru. It’s fascinating magic, really. Very difficult to navigate around.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The tomb is dark, and they both quickly take out their wands to light the way forward. He leads her down a long hallway with a grin. “Well if anyone could do it, my friend, I expect it would be you! My good friend Devlin as well! I, however, don’t trust myself not to apparate you straight into the Red Sea by accident. Here, this way.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Amir leads her down a long hallway made of ancient, yellowish bricks painted with beautiful artwork seemingly describing sagas of pharaohs of old. A part of her smiles, remembering watching documentaries about Egypt with her parents as a young girl and imagining what it would actually be like to explore the ancient world of tombs and pharaohs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She takes her wand out in order to cast some non-invasive ward detections. Amir watches her with a friendly smile, gesturing down a hallway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you for your caution. It’s one reason why an auror escort is required in these old tombs - some years ago, a poor wizard woke an army of mummies by using too aggressive spellwork. Imagine! Poor fellow. This way to Sekhmet’s chamber.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She cringes, having heard the story before. “I suppose it’s a good thing he didn’t know any of the ancient binding rituals - might’ve had himself a full mummy army and mounted a takeover.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Amir sighs as they enter a huge chamber, complete with decorated pillars surrounding a large ancient tomb in the middle of the room. The air feels old and heavy. “Dark Wizards and their undead armies are just so much fun, yes? Well, this is the chamber. I hope you’re not planning on creating your own undead army while we’re here?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She casts another detection spell and smiles when it hums, indicating the presence of protective magic. “Amir, if I do, you can be the general of my mummy army. Look - there is heavy magic here in this room. I’m going to cast a few spells to analyze the wards. These tombs are drenched in old magic, can you feel it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He nods uneasily. “What do you think you’ll find?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well,” she frowns, flicking her wand through the air quickly. “Why have protective wards unless you’re protecting something? If I’m correct, and Sekhmet was indeed the guardian of the Eye, I doubt we’d find the artifact itself here. I’m looking for a clue - something to indicate it’s an actual possibility, and from there a hint to its final location.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The air ripples in front of her, and she sighs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But first, we have some wards to deconstruct, lest we want to bring the entire tomb crashing down on us.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Or find ourselves surrounded by mummies,” Amir grins.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Identifying the protective spells is fairly quick work, though some of the protections are ancient and unfamiliar. She will need to research them. Layered protective spells are an interesting bit of magic - she will have to counter them precisely in order, starting with the more ancient spells. She has done similar painstaking work in the past in the ruins of Machu Picchu, with well earned success.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Glowing purple runes shimmer in the air, and she captures them quickly in her notepad.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eventually, after cataloguing the results of testing the wards, her eyes are drawn to the walls of the chamber, covered in hieroglyphics. She recognizes some, though nowhere near all, and she steps forward to peer at one of them closely.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It is almost-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It appears to be a bleeding, faceless man, and her mind immediately snaps to the awful visions of her nightmare.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It is likely just a smudge on an old wall, and the drawing of the man </span>
  <em>
    <span>should</span>
  </em>
  <span> have a face. He probably did, once, but no longer, and she is suddenly almost overtaken by an urge to see Draco and confirm that he has the appropriate number of faces.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think I have what I came for,” she tells Amir tightly. “I have some research to do. We can come back next week?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Faceless, bleeding, pressing skeletal lips to her mouth-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course,” agrees Amir genially. “Hopefully by then you’ll have already resolved this Protectorate crisis, yes?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had been fine when she had seen him, smiling so sweetly at dear Astoria, but-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The nightmare had felt-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Indeed,” she breathes heavily before they depart together.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It had been nothing but a horror and it had felt </span>
  <em>
    <span>real.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As soon as they apparate back to the auror’s office, Amir is approached by a harried looking young man who informs them that Sebek-Ari is going to an event at the Estate that evening, as is the Death Eater Draco Malfoy. Her heart thuds in her chest as Amir nods, giving her a long-suffering look as he departs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She heads back to her hotel suite and attempts to begin her research into the tomb wards, but she finds her thoughts lingering on the fact that Roger still has not authorized her to tell Amir about Draco’s status as a spy. She cannot fathom how Roger or the ICW stand to benefit by keeping such a secret, but she resolves that she’ll tell Amir herself if it comes down to it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It could put Draco in danger if the aurors simply assume he is part of the Protectorate because of his reputation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She briefly recalls an image of her younger self, a little more something and a little less something than she is now, declaring to Ron and Harry that she didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> to break the rules, but if it was for a good enough reason...</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It is getting dark out, and she wonders if Draco is still at the Estate.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Keep Harry and Ginny safe. Keep the Weasleys safe. Keep her parents safe. Keep Draco...</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With a huff, she tosses her books aside and heads towards Draco’s hotel room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He is staying at a different hotel than her, of course, and the first thing she thinks as she breaks into his room is how easy it would be for </span>
  <em>
    <span>someone else,</span>
  </em>
  <span> someone with </span>
  <em>
    <span>intentions, </span>
  </em>
  <span>to break into his room. It fills her with a deep sense of unease, and she immediately takes her wand out to start putting some protection spells into the place.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He is an asset to the Ministry, and it is for the sake of the greater good that she is protecting him. It is reasonable that she is worried about him and desperately wants to ensure his safety. For the greater good. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She focuses on reconstructing her mental barriers in preparation of interacting with him again, and when he walks through the doorway she is able to restrain herself from sighing in relief at seeing him alive and well.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco, for his part, looks faintly annoyed to see her there lounging on his couch when he arrives. He immediately gets himself a drink before providing an update on the attendees of a Greengrass Estate dinner party.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Blaise Zabini, Ackerly Viridian, Danny Kershaw. She doesn’t think either of the alchemists are a part of the Protectorate, and perhaps don’t know the entirety of the group’s goals.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There was also a woman there. She works with Sebek-ari, apparently. Very pretty - shaggable, I’d say,” he grins at her cruelly. “But she scared the piss out of me, I’ll have you know. Here I thought </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>were scary this whole time. She looked like she might murder me on the spot and use me as a toothpick. Violet Evilian was her name.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She can feel the blood drain out of her face. Not even all the occlumency in the world could have prepared her to remain expressionless at hearing that woman’s name emerge from his lips, particularly after her awful nightmare of faceless corpses bleeding on her just the night before.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Violet Evilian. Protege of infamous Death Eater Antonin Dolohov, internationally wanted criminal, and Ron’s murderer. Hermione has spent thousands of her own galleons over the years since his murder in an attempt to learn as much as she can about the woman, learning only enough to fill that thin folder that she keeps in her office and glares at from time to time while fiddling with Ron’s little black box. Ron’s murder remains an open unsolved case, as have several additional faceless corpses, all murdered with the same horrible spell.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Violet has no home of record, but Hermione has often imagined finding her out there, somewhere.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>‘This is for Ron,’</span>
  </em>
  <span> she has always imagined saying, aiming her wand directly between those evil purple eyes-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Violet Evilian had been in the same room as Draco. She, the assassin, had been in the same room as him while he was acting as a spy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her hands tremble somewhat and she immediately decides that she will cast another protective spell on his room before she leaves.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For just a moment, she looks up and sees Draco’s face staring back at her with an expression that almost looks like concern, and she imagines a world in which he would see that she was in pain and he would come over and comfort her and hold her hand and gaze at her with that gentleness he had shown to Astoria.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She sighs and tears her eyes away, since this will never be such a world.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She briefly explains her history with Violet, leaving out the disturbingly specific details she has learned over the years about Violet’s more creative curses, and wonders about what oddities might lie beyond the wards in the Estate’s wine cellar (why have protective wards unless you’re protecting something?).</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right, right. I remember Agatha Vixen cracking wards all the time - mostly to get into old tombs searching for treasure rather than raiding the liquor cabinet, however.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She blinks at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A joke?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Really?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His mouth momentarily twitches into a little smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Does that mean he-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How is it going with Astoria?” The question tears out of her before she can stop it, and she braces herself for his response. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Quite well,” he replies, and she hopes she is imagining the little smirk on his face. “She was very eager to pick up where we left off. Wouldn’t be surprised if she proposes to me, actually.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Are you already fucking her?</span>
  </em>
  <span> a vicious, masochistic part of her wants to ask. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Do you ever think of me when you’re inside her?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She can feel her jaw click as she grinds her teeth. “Good. I’ll be in touch. Contact me on the mobile phone for anything critical. Else, I’ll come to you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She doesn’t want to stay to witness his victorious reaction to her discomfort and escapes as quickly as she can. She shakily casts another spell on his room and before she knows it she is in her own hotel room and drinking firewhiskey straight out of the bottle. Thinking about Draco and Astoria and Violet Evilian and Ron’s faceless corpse in her arms, she feels tears making their way down her cheek as she chokes on the burning liquor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had been in the same room as Violet Evilian.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was - dangerous. So dangerous.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She has to keep him safe.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before she collapses in a heap on her bed, she remembers to throw back a dreamless sleep potion, but the horrifying images from her nightmare are seared behind her eyes and are the last thing she thinks about before oblivion.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Hermione 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Alright Hermione? You look...” Roger’s voice trails off awkwardly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Tired,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Hermione supplies in her head, very aware of the dark circles appearing under her eyes due to countless nights of interrupted sleep. She has been taking Wide-eye Potions most mornings, despite the annoying side-effects of making her skin feel somewhat crawly. She doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>need</span>
  </em>
  <span> them, per se, and she certainly isn’t addicted to them, but the awakening effect helps her stay focused in the short-term.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m fine. Any word from the ICW? I quite dislike that they’re taking so long to approve this. I’m half inclined to just tell Amir about Malfoy myself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Keep them safe, keep him safe.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Roger shrugs nonchalantly. “Yeah, they’re dragging their feet. Don’t tell Amir until we get approval, unless it’s the end of the world - I’d prefer not to get sacked on account of bloody Draco Malfoy,” he laughs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Keep him safe.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She sighs, disappointedly confident that Roger hasn’t exactly gone out of his way to encourage the ICW to hurry along.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her first thought upon meeting the Greengrass ladies for the first time since Hogwarts is that Astoria’s engagement ring is a little too gaudy, and yet she is fiercely jealous of the woman. Daphne has an even more absurdly gaudy ruby-red ring which Hermione tries to convince herself bothers her just as much as the Malfoy heirloom, though she knows she’s lying to herself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The engagement hadn’t come as a surprise due to Draco literally asking her permission to go ahead, and the curdling in her belly was a nonsensical reaction born of old, misconstrued memories.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It meant nothing, it meant nothing, it meant nothing.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She - really is exhausted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She and Draco play the game of pretending not to be intimately familiar with each other, while hardly having to feign a mutual dislike (on his part, at least, and her heart certainly doesn’t twinge whenever he sneers at her).</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne is somewhat off-puttingly snide for reasons she cannot begin to guess at, and it gives her pause. They had certainly never gotten along at Hogwarts, but she cannot recall having done anything in particular to have earned her malice. They had mostly ignored each other in those days, with perhaps a mild mutual antipathy at worst.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria, on the other hand, is polite nearly to a fault.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It proves rather easy to secure an invitation to the Estate, and Astoria’s earnest eyes make her stomach churn uncomfortably. She reminds herself that the woman actively chose to join her family in a literal death cult, and that sympathy is not a requirement here by any means.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She keeps reminding herself that as she meets Astoria for tea, and for lunch, and for tea again, and for a nundu race, and for more tea, and the girl continues to be nothing but friendly and kind and sweet, and she feels more and more sick to her stomach about the whole concept of this operation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At a global scale, she can acknowledge the necessity of stopping the Ignis Protectorate by whatever means necessary. However, at a personal level, the destructive number of potential casualties is disturbing. Even if they all survive, it can only end badly for everyone involved.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Especially for Astoria. Poor Astoria, who seems convinced that she has forged two real relationships - one with a new friend, and the other with a star-crossed lover, and as far as she knows neither of them are in her life specifically to spy on her family.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sometimes she wonders if it’s hopeful thinking on her part to suspect that Astoria is not as involved with the inner workings of the Ignis Protectorate as the others. The girl just seems far too </span>
  <em>
    <span>nice</span>
  </em>
  <span> for all of this, and sometimes Hermione gets a vague sense that Astoria disapproves of the operation altogether and simply wants to live her own life. Her own happily-ever-after sort of life.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With Draco, of course.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This was my mother’s,” Astoria says with a modest smile over tea, just the two of them for once. She tugs gently at the ankh charm on her the long silver chain around her neck. “Daph got a rather lovely ruby ring, but I adored this necklace. I was young, but I remember playing with this while Mum would hold me...Daph says I look like her, you know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione thinks of her own mother, lost too young as well, though differently. The memory charm had been difficult to remove properly, leaving a somewhat addled woman in its wake. Her heart tugs at her chest, and Astoria looks at her expectantly, but she cannot quite summon up the will to </span>
  <em>
    <span>bond</span>
  </em>
  <span> with the girl about mothers, or anything else.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Watching Astoria fiddle with her necklace brings forth an image of Ron’s little black box, still sitting there in her London office, waiting for her to open the damned thing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She must have been very pretty,” she offers neutrally in response.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria smiles and nods before gazing somewhat tiredly into the distance.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright?” Hermione asks tentatively, insisting to herself that she doesn’t truly care about the answer. She can’t care about this poor, sweet woman. She can’t afford to.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just a bit tired,” Astoria sighs. “You - you’ll laugh at me, I’m sure.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She forces a tight smile. “Tell me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well,” Astoria blushes prettily. “I - sometimes I get these awful nightmares and have trouble sleeping. They’re quite odd - I’m always on a ship.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria briefly explains her recurring nightmares - a sea of blood, fire demons, Draco, Daphne. All of it sounds horrible. Hermione frowns deeply, not unsympathetic about violently interrupted sleep.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It - was probably nothing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fire demons.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ifrit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco, turning away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The shadowy companion from Harry’s dream who burns with her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco, looking at her with sad eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco, drops of his blood splashing onto her face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco, faceless and pressing a skeletal kiss to her lips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It - probably meant nothing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve long thought divination is rubbish, you know,” she offers with a slight shrug.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria looks at her for a long moment. “Draco said the same thing, actually.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hm,” she responds noncommittally.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria’s eyes turn wistful. “I’m so grateful for him. He helps me stay grounded, really. He always likes to tease me and remind me how silly nightmares these nightmares are. I - oh, I love him so much. I always have, even back at Hogwarts.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She maintains a blank face as Astoria blushes further, remembering the feel of Draco’s arms tightening around her after she used to awaken in the dead of night with a frightful cry, torn from a nightmare straight into the comfort of his grasp before sinking back into a dreamless slumber. She bitterly notes that it was clearly a useful practice run for him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s - lovely.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know you two never liked each other,” Astoria says slowly, watching her with hopeful, naive eyes. “I’m grateful that you don’t mind when he comes along for tea.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She forces a tight smile. “We’re not children anymore. Hogwarts was a long time ago, and I try not to hold onto old grudges if I can help it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There are plenty of new grudges to hold, after all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria smiles warmly and grasps her hand lightly from across the table. The engagement ring on her finger glitters in the light. “We’ll be married soon, at any rate. I do hope you’ll come to the wedding?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The tea in her belly seems to bubble and burst.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...Of course I will.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The wedding date gets closer and closer, and while she and Draco are having no luck with accessing the cellar, she and Amir have been making much more progress at the Tomb of Ra. It is nice to have something positive to distract her, at the least.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She has already deconstructed three ancient, deadly wards which would surely have killed them, including one that appeared to date back nearly three thousand years and would have possibly leveled half the hemisphere. The rest seem more straightforward, and she is confident that she will break through them sooner rather than later.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s something here, something hidden,” she mutters to Amir quietly as she swishes her wand sharply in the air. “Why else would there be so many protective spells? There has to be something.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Amir shrugs as her magic swirls around them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Revelio Maxima,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> she whispers with another flick of her wrist, and suddenly a gust of wind flies through the chamber, and as it does a slew of purple runes appear across from her against the wall in the shape of an archway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A door!” gasps Amir from behind her. “There are no records of something like this here!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She glances back at him with a smile for a brief moment before charging forward, pressing her hand against the shimmering wall and feeling the magical energies at play. It smells </span>
  <em>
    <span>old,</span>
  </em>
  <span> faintly like an extinguished fire, and the doorway shape shimmers brightly for a moment before fading away, revealing a small room behind it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After casting a few quick spells to confirm no additional warding, she takes a deep breath and walks through the doorway. She glances around in awe as Amir enters behind her, similarly struck.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The room is similar to the chamber they left behind in build, but the far wall is absolutely covered from floor to ceiling in dozens of unfamiliar glowing runes. They thrum with a magical energy she recognizes from exploring ancient tombs in the past, but this seems different, somehow. It’s not part of a spell, she thinks, but rather part of a story.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are those runes? Or hieroglyphs?” asks Amir from beside her, mouth agape.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She reaches into her satchel in search of her camera. “A combination of both, I believe. I recognize a few of the runes, but nowhere near enough to decipher. I’ll have to research this. See here? It’s the sun-disc, but different from its typical form. And this one? It is generally agreed upon that it symbolizes the Eye of Ra. The rest, it has to be a clue to the location of the Eye, I’m sure of it. This - is incredible.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She allows herself a moment to grin happily at herself before faltering somewhat when she realizes her instinct is to rush and provide Draco with an update about her discovery. He had seemed so interested in her research back in France, but she sharply reminds herself that it had simply been part of an extremely transparent act in order to squirm his way into her bed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I wonder if our friend Mr. Devlin might be able to help?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Snapping a few photos of the wall, she nods, focusing her thoughts on the other former lover she dearly wants to braggadociously update about her discovery. “As one of the world’s most renowned runic experts, I believe he would. Although he may not be inclined to suffer through my gloating at this discovery.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Amir laughs boomingly, and she lets herself be happy for a moment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The following evening, she arrives at the Greengrass manor for tea. Similar to the Tomb of Ra, she has been carefully cataloguing the protections on the Estate - they are typical for such an old house and bloodline, and quite strong. Even apparating to the grounds is difficult, requiring a lengthy walk from where the wards end to the front door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Any sort of daring breaking and entering - or escape, for that matter - would be quite difficult. Flying would be a potential option, despite her disinclination for the activity. She could drive, maybe, up the long path to the front door, though escaping in a muggle car from someone with a wand was hardly worth contemplating.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco greets her in the Greengrass foyer, eyes sharp as he regards her closely. She thinks it might finally be the time to sneak to the cellar and actually accomplish something, but-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Astoria and Daphne are in the other room - it’s not the time,” he preempts her in a hushed voice. “The old elf already informed them of your arrival.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She sighs, sick of having been stymied so many times, and somewhat alarmed. If she is not able to hurry the investigation along, Draco might </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually</span>
  </em>
  <span> have to get married.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Though - she has seen the way he smiles at Astoria, so lively and carefree, that she wonders if he might </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> to get married to the kind, sweet, innocent girl.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her stomach feels as though she swallowed a bowl of rocks for dinner.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He raises an eyebrow and sneers lightly at her, gesturing up the stairs towards an open door. “I suppose we can take a tour of my future marital suite, if you’re so inclined.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She wants to slap him, but she manages to keep her face impassive at the thought of the room, </span>
  <em>
    <span>the bed,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he will shortly be sharing with his soon-to-be-wife.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He watches her smirkingly as if waiting for her to give a reaction of any sort, and she steadfastly refuses to give him the satisfaction.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At tea, suddenly all of the blood in her body clenches and turns to ice at the arrival of several people to the room. She has to force herself to calmly focus on the highly important introductions of Mr. Greengrass, Sebek-ari, and Danny Kershaw while fighting against the desperate desire to focus her entire being on the blond woman sneering at her, emanating evil from across the room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Violet Evilian,” the woman introduces herself with a sinister smirk.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ron’s murderer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The woman who she has been fairly stalking across the world in an effort to hunt her down for the purposes of revenge.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The assassin who was in the same room as Draco while he was acting as a spy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She had known meeting the woman here was a possibility, but her brain seems to shut down as she finds herself absolutely reeling.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her hand twitches for her wand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>‘This is for Ron,’</span>
  </em>
  <span> she always imagined saying, wand aimed directly between those evil fucking eyes and casting murderous magic.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She forces herself to take a deep, calming breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She is in control.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her heart thuds violently in her chest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I work for Mr. Sebek-ari,” Violet continues, eyes purple and sparkling with madness.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I know, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she wants to say, heart racing. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dolohov trained you, but you’ve been working for Sebek-ari on and off for two years. And for Amarant Dupree for two years before that, and you went on a six month trip to America before that, and the year before that you cast an unknown spell on the man I loved that melted his face off while I held him in my arms.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In her mind, she whips out her wand and AKs Violet Evilian on the spot before spitting on her corpse and spinning around to kill the others. The Ignis Protectorate can’t conduct a summoning ritual if they’re all </span>
  <em>
    <span>dead</span>
  </em>
  <span> after all-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She feels Draco’s eyes on her from across the room, heavy with a warning, and she tries her best to shakily reinforce her occlumency defences in place. They feel weak, like walls built on an unsturdy foundation that might collapse at any moment, but it is better than nothing as she focuses her thoughts.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Keep him safe,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she tells herself, uncomfortably aware that he has, despite everything, managed to squirm his way onto her list of people to protect. Her friends, her family, and Draco. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Keep him safe.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...Nice to meet you,” she replies eventually.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The blood is pounding in her head as she maintains eye contact for a long moment with the woman before forcing herself to turn back. As Gideon Greengrass announces his need for his daughters to accompany him for a time, she turns her eyes back to Draco.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He is eyeing her narrowly with a deeply concerned frown.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She immediately stands as the door shuts, preferring to force her focus on the task at hand rather than dwelling on memories of Ron’s faceless corpse or Violet Evilian’s horrible violent eyes. He moves to block her path to the door and they have a quick, quiet argument, but she </span>
  <em>
    <span>has </span>
  </em>
  <span>to go and he knows it. It makes absolutely no sense for him to come along, so she shoves past him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He takes a step forward and only stops when she reaches out and places her hand on his chest. He feels warm to touch, and she thinks she can feel the heaviness of his beating heart.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stay here, Draco,” she whispers, looking desperately into his eyes and seeing - </span>
  <em>
    <span>something,</span>
  </em>
  <span> maybe, though she is not quite sure what. “Please. Trust me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Stay here, stay safe.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His hand twitches and she almost thinks he might reach up to hold her own, and she finds that she somewhat desperately wants him to. “Fine. Be careful.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She stares at him for a long moment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He - really looks concerned about her, doesn’t he? Maybe? His eyes are a glittering grey and she can hardly tear her gaze away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Unsure of how exactly to read him in that moment, she regretfully pulls her hand back and offers him the slightest of smiles before she casts a disillusionment charm and hastily departs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rushing down the hallway, she catches up with the group fairly quickly and follows from a safe distance, continuing her mental debate about the merits of shouting Ron’s name before revenge-murdering Violet Evilian right there in the corridor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t be stupid. You’re not a bloody murderer, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Dead Ron In Her Head reminds her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Are you sure? Apparently I talk to dead people in my head all the time. I’m probably quite mad.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The group descends a staircase, and she casts a quick sound-muffling spell to avoid any creaks that might give her away. They emerge into a long hallway at the end of which are two large glass doors leading to a presumably beautiful garden. They come to a stop prior to, pausing at a door to what appears to be a wine cellar.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She watches the Greengrass patriarch cast a few spells - she recognizes several, but not all - and then Astoria walks forward with a key, seeming somewhat uncomfortable with everything.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She curses to herself upon seeing the key. Multiple points of security features, particularly featuring a physical key and a spell to counter the use of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Alohomora,</span>
  </em>
  <span> are notoriously difficult to crack. She has done it, but it will take some time to analyze the spells in place. It will be far easier if they can manage to get a hold of the key.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Violet Evilian leans casually against the wall, wand out and observing the hallway closely, as the others filter in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She risks a few steps forward in order to better hear the conversation, though she stays far enough away so as not to alert Violet to her presence.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The Granger girl,” Sebek-ari is saying as she approaches, and she startles at hearing her own name out of the man’s mouth. “I dislike the fact that she is here, in this house, at this time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She frowns, wondering what she has ever done to earn such a dangerous man’s attention and ire. Considering his probable Death Eater status, she wonders if being Harry Potter’s Friend is more the culprit than any other reason.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hears Daphne laugh sharply. “Come now, Sebek-ari. Granger doesn’t come with Potter attached to her hip, not anymore. She’ll have no impact on the plan, that’s for certain. Astoria here is the only one with something to fear - her naughty little fiancé is desperate to go back to his womanizing ways. You should see the way he stares at her!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Daphne-!” Astoria gasps while Hermione rolls her eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stares at her! Sneers, more like, and rudely at that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Although, just before she left him in the parlour, there had almost been - </span>
  <em>
    <span>something,</span>
  </em>
  <span> hadn’t there?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne confirms an investigation into Hermione’s Beauxbatons contract, and not for the first time she wonders if the elder Greengrass sister is more heavily involved in the Protectorate than the Ministry’s intelligence ever suggested.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Besides,” continues Gideon Greengrass coldly, clearly disinterested in Draco’s romantic affairs. “With Zabini - ah, out of town, we have nothing to fear. He might have clued her in whether he meant to or not. And if she does try to </span>
  <em>
    <span>get involved,</span>
  </em>
  <span> we have Violet here to take care of things. And you’ve a history with the girl, don’t you Violet?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her heart thuds in her chest. She is convinced that they killed Zabini, and they would be more than happy to kill </span>
  <em>
    <span>her.</span>
  </em>
  <span> She needs to leave sooner rather than later. They’ll depart the cellar shortly, and while her disillusionment skills are excellent, she doesn’t want to put them to the test, and oh but how she wants to impose violence and vengeance upon Violet Evilian.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Violet smirks dangerously. “Oh yes, I certainly do. Though I’m not sure she’s aware of it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m aware of it, you fucking monster,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thinks to herself as she slowly backs up towards the stairs. </span>
  <em>
    <span>We’ll renew our history before the end of this, and I promise I am going to kill you.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She sees Violet’s purple eyes sparkling and her own hands are shaking and her heart is racing and she rushes up the stairs and out the front door as fast as she can.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco will cover for her. She needs to be - anywhere else. She has absolutely no control here in this hellish house with these horrible people and she has to </span>
  <em>
    <span>leave.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before she knows it she is in her suite at the Hotel Shenei with a bottle to her lips and tears streaming down her face. The room twists and shifts itself around her as she nearly chokes down the burning liquid.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She slumps into the nearest chair in a heap and shudders, remembering vividly that feeling of staring in a numb horror at Ron’s bleeding corpse and wondering when he was going to stand up and tell her what a hilarious joke it all was, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>obviously</span>
  </em>
  <span> he was fine, it was just a stupid prank-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It wasn’t a prank, though. I’m dead,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he reminds her inside her head. </span>
  <em>
    <span>And you will be too if you keep drinking yourself to death.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The liquor bites its way down her throat and she sees his blood on her hands and little mushy bits of his brain spilling out onto her robes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Violet killed you, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she points out to the Dead Ron in her mind, though the world is spinning around her and she may in fact be speaking the words aloud. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m going to kill her.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bloody hell, Hermione. You don’t want to do that.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I do. I’m going to kill her, for you. I swear it.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She is fine, she tells herself. She is </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine.</span>
  </em>
  <span> She is fine.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dead Ron tuts judgmentally and it echoes violently inside her skull.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her hands are trembling and she remembers her nightmare with Dead Ron and Dead Draco dripping blood onto her broken body and she shakily lifts the bottle to her lips again as the world spirals out of control around her.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Hermione 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Draco and Astoria’s wedding is lovely, and she certainly feels nary a bitter bone in her body.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This is good.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This is what they wanted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’ll have better access to the Estate when he moves in after the honeymoon.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This is good.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It will be dangerous.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This is bad.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Keep him safe.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The bride and groom share their first marital kiss, sweet and chaste, and everything is wonderful. The bride is happy, the groom is happy, even Daphne and the notoriously stone-faced Sebek-ari are wearing happy faces for the event.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the reception line, she smiles at Astoria, who looks so pretty and so happy that it hurts. Draco, meanwhile, holds her eyes for just a moment before offering a dark, deeply vicious smirk, and she wants to slap the git at his own wedding and then snog him senseless, but manages to tear herself away before she can do either.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A familiar face approaches her, and she looks on in surprise as Professor Grant Devlin smiles charmingly at her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fancy seeing you here,” he offers. “Friend of the bride or the groom?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Definitely nothing to do with the groom. Nothing at all.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The bride and I have been friendly since I got to the country. The groom and I were in the same year at Hogwarts. And you? Friend of the family, or did you just want to deliver your runic analysis to me in person?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He chuckles softly, and it’s endearing enough, for nostalgia’s sake. “Well, I’m in Cairo often enough. I’ve met the Greengrasses in society over the years. It was enough to get me a wedding invitation and the chance to ambush you, apparently.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She watches Draco and Astoria dance together and wonders what he would do if she dragged Devlin onto the dance floor and clutched him closely. If he would stare at her, feeling any of the confusing emotions that she is currently suffering through.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well as far as ambushes go, it’s not a great one. Now you’re trapped, and I can inform you that I would dearly love an update on your hieroglyph translation.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He smiles lightly. “You’re awfully demanding, you know. I’ve made some progress - It’s quite a complex bit of magic you’ve discovered. Probably enough for publication even if you don’t find the Eye, eh?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At that moment, Draco looks up from the dance floor, arms draped around his blushing bride, and their gazes hold for the length of a single breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She thinks he looks almost-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Broken.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She lets out a slow exhale and turns back to the man actually engaged in conversation with her. “Oh, I’m finding it, Dev. You can count on that. Maybe we should meet for tea next week and discuss your findings?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His gaze flits over to the happy married couple on the dance floor for the briefest moment before he smiles and nods. “Of course. You’ll have to mention my assistance in your inevitable paper on the search, mind you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She wonders if Devlin would come back to her hotel room with her if she invited him to do so.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I knew you just wanted in on my glory,” she smiles.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t realize I was so transparent, alas. Tell me, how are things going with that problematic colleague of yours?” he asks, deceptively casual.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her problematic, ridiculous, idiotic, rude, married colleague? The one who shows up and bleeds on her in her nightmares? The one that sneers at her in between odd, lingering glances? The one whose safety she has become overwhelmingly desperate to ensure? That one?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well enough,” she responds curtly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He raises a dubious eyebrow at her. “Hm.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She glances back at Draco, who is now smilingly gazing into his bride’s eyes, and her heart sinks in her chest. She plasters a grin on her face for the remainder of the event before ultimately going back to her hotel room alone, despite an appearance of tentative interest from Devlin in joining her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She spends the entirety of the Malfoy’s honeymoon buried in research, determined not to think about them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All she’ll need is for the groom to convince his bride to host a party at the Estate before stealing her key, and she is quite sure that she will be able to break the protective enchantments in place.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She researches wards, she studies hieroglyphs, she discusses progress with Devlin, she strategizes with Amir, she fruitlessly attempts to convince Roger to at least pretend like he gives a shit and coordinate more seriously with the ICW, and she refuses to think about what newlywed couples typically get up to on their honeymoons.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When the happy couple returns from their trip, she restricts her conversations with Draco to text messages, not particularly wanting to see his blissfully married face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria politely invites her to the Estate for a party, and Draco’s promised plan can commence. Astoria averts her eyes somewhat, and Hermione observes her closely for a moment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He shouldn’t be with you,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thinks bitterly. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Can’t you see that? He’s trapped in a nightmare, just like me.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The equinox party is quite a lavish affair, gorgeously decorated with a plethora of impressive attendees. She eyes the expensive wine longingly, thinking just one glass would be enough to settle her nerves.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She takes a long, generous sip as the newlyweds approach and the dread settles in her stomach.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria looks happy to the point of strain, and Draco looks-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Triumphant.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She already wants to slap him before he even starts talking.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They need to strategize losing Astoria in order to quickly get to the cellar, and instead he devotes his time to sneeringly reminding her in not so many words that he does not want her and could not possibly care less if she were to get with another man.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Everything stings and it is easy to glare at him through her aching heart. It is with no small amount of relief that she turns to Danny Kershaw, likely coming over at Astoria’s urging to greet them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Malfoy, good man!” greets Danny with a pleasant grin, reaching over to shake Draco’s hand before turning to her. “And - Hermione, a pleasure as always.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Danny, hello,” she greets, mouth twitching upwards and studiously ignoring Draco.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think I see Ashraf Bata calling me,” the git says testily, with a little curl of his lip. “Nice to see you, Kershaw. Granger - a pleasure, as always.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She wants to roll her eyes and scoff at him, but instead she turns to Danny with a polite smile. It’s always refreshing to converse with a man around her age who </span>
  <em>
    <span>isn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> a whinging git.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hermione, might I ask,” Danny starts, watching Draco walk away with a raised eyebrow. “Does it seem as though Draco Malfoy wants to murder me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She sighs, irritated about how obvious the idiot had been acting. She isn’t sure yet how involved Danny is, but the last thing she needs is to get stuck trying to explain to a potential Ignis Protectorate member why Astoria Greengrass’s husband is acting so oddly about a woman who is not his wife. Someone he very clearly doesn’t even want. She can hardly even explain it to herself. “No, no. He just has a natural glower about him. Believe me, I’ve known him since Hogwarts.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh yes, I remember you lot scrapping all the time. I was only a year ahead of you, you know. Ravenclaw.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course,” she answers noncommittally, having gotten used to this sort of thing over the years. Unsurprisingly, being one of Harry Potter’s best friends and having been featured in the Daily Prophet on multiple occasions had made her more easily recognizable than the average Hogwarts student.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria is still observing them from across the room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione glances at Draco, who is watching her with a scowl. She thinks once Astoria leaves the room she’ll be able to exit this conversation and make for the cellar.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I presume you began your alchemy studies at Hogwarts?” she asks, turning her attention back to Danny.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I did, yes, and I was fortunate enough to connect with Ackerly Viridian after graduation. He’s quite brilliant, actually. We’ve been doing incredible research out here. You’d be fascinated by it, I expect,” he grins.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh?” she asks, forcing a light smile and thinking of what little she knows about orichalcum powder and the pending ritual. “Care to share any details?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He is still grinning happily, glancing about the room as if to check for eavesdroppers. “I’m afraid I can’t say much - yet. Of course, I’ll let you read my research paper after I receive my Order of Merlin.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he winks at her, she is somewhat encouraged to realize that he does not seem to think the world will come to an end anytime soon, or that any Dark Lords might be getting resurrected before the year is up. Surely an Order of Merlin would be quite low on his priority list, in that case.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She smiles at him, still debating whether he is trustworthy or not. She doesn’t trust him, of course, though she does find herself hoping for the former.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He leans in a bit closer. “I have a bit of a silly question for you. Am I remembering correctly that you and Cormac McLaggen were something of an item at Hogwarts? I had potions with him for years. Bit of a lunk, that one.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Cormac McLaggen!” she can’t help but laugh, entirely surprised by the reference to the lad she went on one awful date with in an ill-advised attempt to make Ron jealous. Looking back on those pre-war days, she feels like an entirely different entity from that awkward girl she used to be. She had been able to sleep her way through the nights, back then. “I wouldn’t say we were an item, but we did go on one truly terrible date together. I’m a little surprised you remember that, actually.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, yes, well I must admit I was awfully jealous as a young man.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She blinks at him as an understanding slowly begins to dawn on her, and he blushes faintly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I suppose I should clarify, lest you think I’ve come over to woo you. I was jealous of </span>
  <em>
    <span>you.</span>
  </em>
  <span> You were constantly flanked by lanky quidditch players - I fear we have the same type,” he grins, eyes sparkling.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She laughs again, and feels Draco’s gaze from across the room. “Ah, yes. Only the tallest, most excessively broody quidditch players for us. We’re cursed, Danny, truly.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His eyes dart over to Draco for a moment before returning to hers with a sly smile. “Indeed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She clears her throat and touches his arm, leaning in to whisper conspiratorially before he can get any </span>
  <em>
    <span>ideas</span>
  </em>
  <span> about what she might think of Draco. She tries not to hopefully imagine Draco’s eyes hardening in jealousy at the physical contact. “Actually, Danny, I have a guess as to why Mr. Malfoy is so despondent. I believe he and his wife must have an active wager about our love lives. Mrs. Malfoy seems to think we would make an adorable couple, while Mr. Malfoy disagrees.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He leans in close and nearly giggles into her ear. “How delightful! Though I must say, I’m rather surprised neither of them have noticed me pining desperately for Radames Asker at these little parties before. Look, he’s just over there - handsome, no? He’s on the Egyptian national team. Anyway, who would we like to win? I’m inclined to let Tori emerge the victor. Despite being a tall and broody sort, Malfoy has always been a bit of a rude git. What do you say? Get a drink with me next week?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His grin is infectious, made all the more better by Draco’s glowering from the other side of the room. She briefly lets herself mentally fume at him - he has made it quite clear that he doesn’t want her, not anymore. Their little dalliance in France had meant </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing,</span>
  </em>
  <span> yet he equally clearly doesn’t want her to be with anyone else, the frustrating man.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She glances around for Astoria and sees her through an open doorway engaged in conversation with Lady Ouaphres. She thinks she and Draco may be able to slip away soon enough.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think that’s a lovely idea. And you’re quite right, Radames Asker is very handsome indeed. It appears he’s alone at the moment - perhaps now is the time for you to go say hello?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His smile widens toothily, and she finds that she quite likes him. She finds herself dearly hoping that her analysis of his minimal involvement with the darker side of the Protectorate is accurate. She is almost a little disappointed to extricate herself from the conversation in order to focus on more important things - like her mission of breaking into the warded wine cellar.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The most complicated aspect of analyzing and deconstructing the cellar wards is ignoring Draco’s obnoxious barbs. The protective spells are fairly complex, but certainly not more difficult than the ancient spells she had to deal with in the Tomb of Ra. The anti-intruder wards are typical enough, though she identifies a nifty cursed barrier with a deadly poisonous trap set for any normal wizard seeking to enter the room. She runs through the counter curses in her mind and casts them as rapidly as she can, trying not to focus on either Draco or the sounds emanating from the party.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She is calm. She is in control. She cancels out the protective spells and lets out a heavy exhale.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco is clearly nervous, and some ridiculous nostalgic part of her wants to take him by the hand and smile gently and tell him that they will be </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she is going to keep him safe.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looks at her so intently for a moment that all of her resolve seems to waver before she charges onwards.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As they search the cellar, her attention is almost immediately captured by the runeknife on display. It feels almost sentient, as if it is watching them, and she struggles to repress a shudder. She doesn’t recognize many of the blood colored runes glowing on the blade.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s a runeknife,” Draco gasps, sounding faintly in awe.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She quirks an eyebrow at that, finding herself feeling not entirely surprised and even a little bit pleased that he recognized the thing on sight. “Yes, it appears to be. I’m surprised you recognize it.” She slowly reaches out to touch it, and as her hand approaches the knife the air around it feels heavy. She hears Draco’s sharp intake of breath as her fingers touch the hilt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I - well, I didn’t sleep through all of your lessons, did I? I remember you lecturing me about runeknives for what felt like </span>
  <em>
    <span>hours,</span>
  </em>
  <span> you know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She rushes to quickly identify what appears to be orichalcum powder in the elderwine bottles, heart racing every time Draco glances nervously towards the doorway. She snaps a few photos of the runes on the knife, thinking that it has to be a clue - the runes she doesn’t recognize are telling a story. If she can analyze them, perhaps the more specific details of the ritual will become clear.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As they hustle out of the cellar, she wills her hands to remain steady as she sets the protective spells back in place.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She is calm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She is in control.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She nearly smashes into Draco’s back when he comes to a sudden halt in front of her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>While he hesitates and gestures at the shadow approaching from the stairwell, she quickly drags him down to the opposite end of the hallway, through the tall glass doors to the garden and hopes that the intruder is simply a drunk party guest lost in search of the loo. She cringes and practically shoves herself against his chest, hoping to remain unnoticed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck,” Draco mutters, eyes nervous as he glances through the doorway. “It’s Astoria - I think she saw us. Too late for a disillusion.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Is she looking for them? Or worse, is she going to the cellar?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She cringes, taking a steadying breath and running through their options. There - aren’t many. If they do nothing, Astoria will catch them sneaking about looking suspicious. If she miraculously doesn’t notice them, she’ll happily continue along her path to the cellar and realize that she is missing a rather important key.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The only option she can think of makes her stomach curdle with guilt and dread and anticipation. It’s dangerous, so dangerous, but-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Draco - I’m going to kiss you now,” she declares, watching him closely and trying to stay calm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His eyes widen as he blinks at her and her heart sinks. “What- you’re mad! She’ll think-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She’ll think what I want her to think, and she won’t go down to the cellar. Okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before he can protest again, she quickly closes the gap between them and presses her lips to his lightly - it’s just for show, she reminds herself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As she rests her hand on his shoulder, he is still just for a moment and her heart races and she tries to breathe, then suddenly his mouth parts familiarly and she probably shouldn’t, but she gently slips her tongue between his lips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The onslaught of memories of those nights and those mornings in France are nearly overwhelming, and he smells the same and he tastes the same and as he groans softly against her lips before kissing her firmly, and she wants to drown in him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I miss you,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she tries to tell him desperately. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll protect you, I swear it.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Hermione,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>he whispers headily against her lips, and just for a moment she lets herself exist in a world where he wants her again, that imaginary world where what happened between them </span>
  <em>
    <span>meant something.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He pulls her closer and his lips are soft and warm against hers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shivers against him, even as she hears the sharp clicking of heels making their way down the hallway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Draco,” she whispers back helplessly, breathing him in and peppering his jaw with soft, sweet kisses, stuck halfway between a beautiful dream and a terrifying reality. She doesn’t want to open her eyes and see his face for fear of his expression, but she hears him take a trembling breath. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Draco.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Click, click, click.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now - push me away,” she whispers hurriedly against his lips. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Now, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Draco.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His eyes are burning with a violent fire as he pulls away. When he pushes her back and she sees Astoria’s beautiful, wide, devastated eyes, she feels more like a monster than ever.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She doesn’t need to fake the awkward stammering in her apology to Astoria, the poor girl whose husband adorably teases her through her nightmares. The girl who has been so in love with one man for more than a decade.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One last glance between Draco, whose jaw is clenched and is refusing to meet her eyes, and Astoria, looking so poignantly ravaged, is enough to send her swiftly through the doors and back up the stairs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her heart thuds in her chest and her eyes sting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It - would possibly be enough to have sufficiently distracted Astoria.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’ll be fine.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She rushes through the foyer towards the front door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria will be too distracted to fetch the wine, surely, and Draco will keep her distracted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Leaving so soon, Granger?” comes a drawling voice on her way out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She instantly attempts to school her features once more as she turns to face a smirking Daphne Greengrass.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s fine. He’ll be </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes. I have an early day tomorrow. This was a lovely party.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mostly my sister’s doing,” Daphne replies with a languid smile. “She is a most dedicated hostess. You’ll want to say farewell to her, won’t you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She frowns at Daphne for a moment, feeling as though she is trying to solve a puzzle which is forever missing a single piece. The light from the chandelier reflects off the woman’s eyes in such a way that it gives them something of a reddish hue. “I - did already, thank you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne’s off-puttingly malicious grin widens and makes her feel deeply uneasy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She departs quickly and awkwardly, feeling Daphne’s gaze at her back as she rushes out the door and treks to the apparition point.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At her hotel room, she sits on the couch and her hands are shaking when she takes out her phone. No message yet. Her eyes dart over to the bottle of firewhiskey on the counter but she shakes her head at it, feeling a nearly all-consuming urge to keep herself together for him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She takes a deep, calming breath and focuses on what she thinks she knows.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yes, Astoria had likely been on the way to the cellar. However, catching her husband in a passionate embrace had likely distracted her. Draco would have had the sense to encourage her to return to the party and would hopefully be able to sneak the key back without her noticing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He will be fine.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She thinks about his lips on hers and she thinks about Astoria’s broken-hearted face and she feels cold but somehow warm and rotten to the core.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The room starts to shift in front of her, and everything feels </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She glances up at the firewhiskey bottle once again before casting a quick spell to vanish the fucking thing and looking back to her phone. He might need her, he might be in trouble. If he doesn’t check in with her tonight, then she might have to storm the damned Estate herself and drag him out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She stays on the couch and she waits.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And she waits.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her heart thuds rapidly in her chest, and she waits.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her stomach coils itself into knots but she thinks about his face and she waits.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally, the phone chirps and she nearly jumps out of her skin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Still alive.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A deep exhale escapes her lungs in a rush, and she collapses on the couch in a relieved heap. She lies there for hours attempting to still her heart and catch her breath before eventually sinking uneasily into a sober slumber.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Random fun fact: the Devlin character who keeps showing up was originally a throwaway easter egg in the first chapter. Cary Grant played a character of the same name in the movie Notorious that I've been riffing on.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Hermione 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>As the weeks rush by, her thoughts dwell on Draco. All Hallow’s Eve is approaching rapidly, but she finds it difficult to focus.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The fallout from the party had appeared to be minimal, but for the thirty-seven days since the party she has hardly slept, sleep rocked by nightmares and mind whirling with worry.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wide-eye Potions make her itch all over, but between those and heavy doses of caffeine, she is able to keep alert. With the big night approaching and so many questions still remaining, she needs whatever edge she can get.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When they met near the bazaar after the party, he-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had looked sick.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She had more or less accused him of being hungover, but he had looked sick.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He missed their last in-person rendez-vous at the bazaar and hasn’t been responsive on his phone, and it’s possible he is on a bender of some sort as he had suggested, but-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She lies awake in bed, thoroughly unable to accomplish anything resembling sleep.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You should really get some rest,</span>
  </em>
  <span> offers Ron In Her Head unhelpfully.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I am aware,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she mentally snaps back, heart racing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She feels as though she has been rendered somewhat helpless in her efforts to stop the Protectorate, largely due to Roger’s indifferent preference to rely on the ICW to take action, her own lack of progress at identifying the symbols on the runeknife, and Draco’s complete lack of communication.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hasn’t checked in for sixteen days.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She thinks about his face when she last saw him, pale and sweaty and sickly, and she wonders.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe the kiss </span>
  <em>
    <span>(oh,</span>
  </em>
  <span> the kiss) had been too much. Maybe he was furious at her for putting an additional strain on his (fake) marriage. Maybe he simply didn’t want to speak with her ever again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had looked sick.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As dawn approaches, her eyes feel cracked and dry but she sighs wearily and forces herself out of her bed to prepare for the day. She tries her best to shove thoughts of Draco (and his drawn looking face, and the kiss, and everything) to the back of her mind as she prepares for another visit to an ancient ruin with Devlin and Amir. The feeling of helplessness has permeated her entire existence, as progress on locating the Eye of Ra has involved waiting for Dev to translate the runes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hasn’t slept more than a scant three or four hours per night in thirty-seven days, and quickly tosses back yet another Wide-eye Potion, hoping it will help her get through the day. Her skin immediately starts to sting and crawl uncomfortably.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Devlin’s analysis of the hieroglyphs is largely complete, indicating the existence and location of a Shrine of Sekhmet which housed the Eye of Ra. It is a hugely significant discovery which undoubtedly will gather quite a lot of acclaim from the wizarding historical societies, and yet she can hardly drum up any enthusiasm for the success.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had looked awfully sick.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She decides that she can manage to stop dwelling on Draco for at least a few hours, and that she will check with Roger immediately after this visit to the Shrine.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco - he probably just didn’t want to speak with her after everything and was reporting directly to Roger instead-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Roger, who has indifferently shrugged his way through this assignment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Roger, who said he was handling it and assured her that Draco was fine, but whose face was completely disinterested.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Roger, who hadn’t spared a passing thought at her concerns over how sick he had looked-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She banishes him from her mind once again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arriving at the location suggested by Devlin’s runic analysis, she finds an entirely empty stretch of desert. A magical energy lingers in the air, indicating the presence of - something. Something hidden. Between Amir, Devlin and herself casting detection spells, they are rapidly able to locate a hidden structure beneath the sand, much more quickly than she had expected. A staircase leads them into the darkness, and it smells stale and old and heavy with magic.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Amir and Devlin’s enthusiasm is far from contagious, and her mind darts back to a pale, exhausted face dripping with sweat. Was it just an illness? Something worse? Was he still alive? If he died, would she even know about it?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright, Hermione?” Devlin murmurs from her left as they descend the staircase.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” she answers curtly, lighting her wand and descending further.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Devlin doesn’t follow-up, but she can feel his eyes on her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There are few additional wards in place, and very simple ones at that. They progress quickly through a long, dark hallway. It - feels wrong, almost as though it is </span>
  <em>
    <span>too</span>
  </em>
  <span> easy, though she wonders if it might be the lack of sleep getting to her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you think she’ll do with the Eye?” she hears Amir stage-whisper to Devlin. “I expect she’ll have the world kneeling at her feet in a matter of days.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Devlin chuckles lightly while she studiously ignores them and marches forward.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There are theories that the Eye can unleash the power of the sun upon one’s enemies,” Devlin notes to Amir. “I wrote about it myself. Other less conclusive theories suggest it has healing properties, as our fearless leader Ms. Granger over there believes. Given that this is Sekhmet’s Shrine, renowned as a goddess of healing, perhaps there is more credence to the concept than generally believed. If the Eye is indeed here, it will need to be thoroughly studied, considering how dangerous it may be.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It has been sixteen days since she saw Draco.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At the end of the dark hallway, a door shimmers in front of them. She wonders if Draco were there if he might have a stupid Agatha Vixen joke prepared for such an occasion. And after making his little joke he would watch her with smiling eyes and a little smirk on his face, searching for a reaction from her. If she smiled back at him even a little bit, he would reward her with a grin, he used to always be grinning at her back in France.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She sighs heavily and casts a quick detection charm on the door. There are only minor wards - even the Greengrass cellar had far more devious protections in place, and it triggers more of that niggling suspicion in the back of her mind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“If</span>
  </em>
  <span> the Eye is here? Still doubt me, Dev?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Never,” he smiles lightly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As they remove the wards and enter a chamber which appears to have been used for ancient prayers, complete with a large dais in the center of the room. The far wall is painted with the huge lioness form of the goddess Sekhmet, and in her hand - the Eye of Ra.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There is a large golden chest on the dais, and she absently wishes she felt more enthusiastic, but-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His tired face, his sunken eyes-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I suppose the honor of opening the chest should go to you,” Devlin offers gently, clearly sensing her distraction.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sixteen days, and not a word since.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right,” she breathes, taking a step forward.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The chest is heavy looking, plated with gold and etched with hieroglyphs. Some she recognizes from Devlin’s analysis, others are unfamiliar, but the chest practically sings with a magical energy so thick that it feels as though she is wading through the air.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She rests her hands on the latch. It is warm to the touch.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Slowly, very slowly, she lifts the top of the chest up to reveal the contents within.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She blinks down at the object resting on a small red pillow inside the chest as Devlin and Amir approach behind her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is that-?” Amir cuts himself off and frowns.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It is certainly </span>
  <em>
    <span>an </span>
  </em>
  <span>Eye of Ra. The same Eye of Ra that is sold by the hundreds on necklaces at the bazaar that Draco had joked about from time to time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It is an entirely worthless piece of junk.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She tries to sort out exactly how she feels about the underwhelming sensation as she reaches in to pick up the non-magical trinket. It feels like plastic, and she stares at it for a long moment. Even the chain seems cheap.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Feeling a gentle pressure at her arm, she looks up to find Devlin touching her elbow lightly with an apologetic look on his face. “Sorry, Hermione. Looks like someone beat us here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Amir looks crestfallen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something had felt wrong with the wards when they arrived, she had recognized that fact instinctually. She thinks she should feel furious at the wasted effort. She wants to feel furious, but she can hardly find the energy to feel anything but tired.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Someone, at some point, had identified the location of the Shrine, broken through the old wards, stolen what may have been the real Eye of Ra, replaced it with a ridiculous fake, and haphazardly replaced the protective spells with flimsy, non-lethal wards that she could have broken through even as a student at Hogwarts.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To what end? No one has ever stepped forward to claim the discovery, and there have been no reports of such a thing being sold on the black market. There certainly would have been a demand, whether the thing was ultimately a weapon or a device of healing. She cannot imagine who would do such a thing, or why, and despite the intense amount of effort she has invested into this project, she finds it somewhat difficult to bring herself to care.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right,” she sighs heavily, glancing at the two men. She shoves the fake Eye into the front pocket of her satchel and heads for the door. “I’ll analyze this one later. Perhaps - it’s unlikely, but there might be some sort of residual magical energy that could give us a clue about who did this. Let’s go.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure you’re alright?” Devlin asks quietly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m fine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What a waste of time, but she-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She needs to go talk to Roger and see what he knows about Draco. She just needs to confirm that he is alive, even if he never wants to speak with her again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When they exit the ruin and return to the brightness of the day, her stomach twists itself into a knot with worry. The sun seems far too bright, and she shuts her eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The two men are muttering to each other behind her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sixteen days. Sixteen days since she received any update from him, and sixteen days since she can be sure he was alive.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, Hermione, you don’t look well. Let me take you back and get you some tea?” Devlin offers, eyes narrowed with concern.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her hands twitch at her side.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m fine, Dev.” Even to her own ears, her voice sounds strained.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re not. Come on, then.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She sighs, bidding Amir a quick farewell before allowing Devlin to side-along apparate her to his room at the Sleepy Shoe Inn and guide her to a soft couch in his sitting room. She practically slumps into it, feeling slightly overwhelmed with exhaustion after thirty-seven days of hardly sleeping.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hears Devlin rumbling about making tea somewhere behind her, and she sinks more heavily into the comfort of the couch. She brings her shaking hands to her eyes for a moment, pressing them against her eyelids as though they might have the power to stave off her inevitable pending migraine.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A spot of tea first, she tells herself, for the caffeine, then she will storm Roger’s office and demand information.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...looked like you were about to apparate to the nearest pub,” Devlin is saying sheepishly as he presses a steaming cup of Earl Grey into her hands before settling into the spot next to her on the couch. “See? Tea is much better. Look, finding the Shrine was a magnificent discovery, Hermione, even without the Eye itself. I know you’re not used to the feeling of not accomplishing your goals, but we’ve all been there. It’s not the end of the world, eh?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eye of Ra be damned, she wants to say, Draco is sick. And if she fails at the </span>
  <em>
    <span>other</span>
  </em>
  <span> job she has been working on then it very well might indeed be the end of the world.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Devlin watches on, she takes a long sip of tea before reaching into her satchel in search of the photographs she took thirty-seven days ago in the Greengrass wine cellar.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If Draco is in trouble, she needs to know everything she can about whatever ritual the Protectorate has in mind. Orichalcum powder, a runeknife, summoning an ifrit, but - how, exactly? And where? They’ve still had no luck discovering additional information, and the ICW has certainly not been quick about responding to requests for assistance.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looks up at Devlin hesitantly, aware that she hasn’t been authorized to release any information about her mission to anyone outside of a select few with the proper clearance, but-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She could be overreacting, but-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco could be in trouble.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dev, I hate to ask you this, but - I need more help, if you can spare it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shifts a little closer to her on the couch. “Anything you need.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She holds the photographs so tightly that she leaves an indentation of her fingers in the paper as she shakily holds them out for Devlin to see.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His eyes widen and he stills as he eyes the pictures before snapping his head up to meet her gaze seriously. “Hermione...what-?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s a runeknife. I need to know what those symbols mean. I’ve been trying to decipher it on my own, but I’m out of ideas. It’s - look, this one is for blood, isn’t it? And this one, it’s something related to sacrifice, I believe, isn’t it? I - Dev, this is really important, if there’s anything you can think of that might help-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hermione,” he interrupts, looking shaken and watching her with earnest blue eyes. “This looks </span>
  <em>
    <span>dangerous.</span>
  </em>
  <span> I do have an idea, and it’s that you stay far away from whoever wants to use this knife.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She sees Draco's distressingly gaunt face in her mind, and she wonders. Blood. Sacrifice. Surely they wouldn’t-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They couldn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>sacrifice</span>
  </em>
  <span> him for Merlin’s sake. Could they?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Dev. Look, I shouldn’t be showing this to you at all, but I need to know. Anything, anything at all that might help...” her voice trails off, and she thinks her voice sounds almost broken.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He watches her intensely for a moment before taking a deep breath and nodding slowly. “I - don’t immediately know what this symbol here is, with the serrated ankh. This one, with the arrow, either. Something to do with family, I should think. I do have a reference book that might help interpret all of this, but Hermione-” he shifts closer and his knee brushes against hers. “This looks like dangerous magic.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She feels so tired, and absently notes that he has moved even closer and has taken her left hand into his and is watching her closely. She takes a deep breath. He smells like an old book bound with leather, so familiar, and for a moment she just wants to relax into the comfort of his arms, but-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sixteen days.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Devlin leans in and presses his forehead to hers for a moment, and she waits, just breathing, and-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sixteen days. Blood. Sacrifice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Whatever this is, you should let it go,” he whispers softly, and a small, nearly buried, craven part of her almost wishes that she could.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He brings his hand to her cheek and she leans into his palm exhaustedly, thinking that it has been thirty-seven days since her ill-fated kiss with Draco, and far longer since anyone has touched her so gently.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He moves even closer, lips mere breaths away from hers when her sluggish brain seems to wake itself and she raises a shaky hand up to press against his chest, halting his forward movement. She can feel his heartbeat heavily against her palm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I - </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> she says quietly, with more meaning than one, and her heart feels like a rabid animal scratching at her insides to escape its cage. “Please help me, Dev. Please?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He lets out a deep sigh, forehead still resting against hers as his breath ghosts against her face, but he nods slowly. When he pulls back from her, his eyes look big and beautiful and sad.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco’s eyes had been bloodshot and broken when she saw him last.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” Devlin breathes heavily. “Just - please, be careful Hermione, will you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She holds his gaze for a long moment and nods.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She needs to go.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll - be in touch about the runes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Thank you, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Dev.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He purses his lips as he watches her stand to depart, as if he is holding back something that he wants to say, but she has a guess as to what it could be and does not want to stay long enough to find out for sure. She wrenches her eyes away and marches to his fireplace, flooing directly to Roger’s office.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Devlin watches her go with melancholy eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When she stumbles into Roger’s office, thankfully the man is present, though he gapes at her in surprise at her sudden appearance.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hermione! What-? Is everything okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, fine. Listen, Roger - I told you Malfoy missed our last rendez-vous. I know you said you had it covered, but I - look, you’ve seen him? You’ve at least heard something from him, haven’t you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Roger frowns slightly and leans back in his chair. “No, I haven’t.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He still hasn’t checked in at all, really?” she asks dubiously, immediately annoyed at how little Roger seems to care.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shrugs languidly. “Must be quite the bender he’s on.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I - don’t know about that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He peers at her closely with a frown. “No? Come on, Hermione. Look - I don’t know if you’re just horny for the git or what, but he’s a lush! We knew that from the beginning. He’s a drunk who confirmed to you that he is drinking again, and you are clearly making this more complicated than it is.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I disagree,” she snaps, bristling at his accusation. “The more I think about it, the more convinced I am that he wasn’t hungover. He was </span>
  <em>
    <span>sick.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He’s an asset, Roger, we need to at least make sure he’s alright.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bah,” he waves her off. “It was a hangover. You’re being absurd. Besides, he already helped us confirm that they are storing the orichalcum powder on the Estate. We’ve done more than our part. The ICW can handle it from here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The ICW!” she shoots him a glare, thinking of their incredibly unimpressive ICW liaison, Strongbark. “By the time they finish the paperwork to intervene here, we’ll all have died from old age, if not from getting murdered by the newly resurrected Lord Voldemort! All Hallow’s Eve is in two days, Roger.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Roger rolls his eyes at that. “It’s protocol, Hermione. You know that. My hands are tied.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Blood.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sacrifice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m going to pay a call at the Estate,” she tells him decisively. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He raises an eyebrow at her. “Hey, no, I don’t think that’s a good idea. Not now, with the big night coming up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I won’t interfere with the investigation. It’ll just be a house call. I’m - sort of a friend of the family, after all.” It’s a stretch at best, but she hadn’t entirely informed him about the details of the manufactured kiss Astoria had interrupted at the party thirty-seven days ago.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sighs heavily and narrows his eyes, clearly perturbed, but eventually he nods. “Alright then. I trust you. Go, but don’t take any chances, alright? And come right back here for a report.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll do that,” she replies curtly before spinning on her heels and departing rapidly through the floo.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She quickly formulates a plan, thinking about Draco lying trapped and tortured somewhere on the Estate, and what if he’s too weak to travel by magic? She debates apparating as close to the wards as she can and sneaking into the Estate before deciding on a more direct approach and driving her car straight up to the front door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sprinting up the stairs to the entryway, she knocks on the door and her heart thuds heavily in her chest. There are so many ways this non-plan could go awry, but she focuses her mind on staying calm and focused.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She has to get to Draco. She knows something is wrong, she </span>
  <em>
    <span>feels</span>
  </em>
  <span> it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The bricks of the house seem to waver and shift, moving further and further out of order, and she squeezes her eyes shut tightly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She is not in control, but that’s okay, she tells herself with a deep breath. This is for Draco. She can do this for him. She has to make sure he is safe, she </span>
  <em>
    <span>has</span>
  </em>
  <span> to.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Another deep breath, and she opens her eyes. The world is, for the moment, quite still.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A familiar looking house-elf from her previous visits to the Estate answers the door after what feels like an eternity. A glance behind him doesn’t reveal any other household members or guests, at least in the foyer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Miss Hermione Granger,” greets the blasé house-elf - Jalby, if she is not mistaken - with a slight frown. “We’s was not being expecting you this evening.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She could stun him. She immensely dislikes the prospect, but she could stun him, run inside, find Draco and get out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, no, I was just in the area and decided to drop in,” she improvises quickly. She continues speaking before he can shut the door in her face. “Is the family in this evening?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, Miss,” he answers in a noncommittal squeak.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But she doesn’t know how many people are in the house. Just Daphne and Astoria? Their father? Their business associates? Sebek-ari, Violet Evilian, anyone else?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She will need to move quickly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right. Would you mind letting, ah, Mrs. Malfoy know that I’m here?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jalby seems to hesitate for a moment, glancing towards a door down the hallway, far past the staircase. The study, she thinks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What is it, Jalby?” she breathes quietly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mrs. Astoria Malfoy and her sister is being in a business meeting, Miss. They’s is asking not to be disturbed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She lets out a sharp exhale, taking an authoritative step into the house. Jalby looks merely annoyed rather than concerned, and she thinks it is quite safe to assume that the diminutive elf is not a full-fledged member of the Ignis Protectorate. She keeps her hand near her wand, just in case. “Do you think they’ll be tied up for a time?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jalby shrugs. “I is not knowing, Miss.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is Mr. Malfoy in the meeting as well?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah - no, Miss.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Would you mind telling him that I’ve come by?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I is not able to do that, Miss.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And why is that?” she asks, heart thudding heavily in her chest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mr. Malfoy is being ill. He is not to be leaving his bed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She is half tempted to reconsider her previously rejected plan of stunning Jalby and storming the Estate by herself. But - it would be loud, and she has no idea what dangers might be lurking in the study.  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. How long has he been ill?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jalby’s eyes flicker towards a room on the second floor, and she feels moderately confident that she can begin her search there. Draco had snidely pointed the same room out to her once. He shifts and turns back to her, clearly growing irritated. “Five weeks, Miss.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Since the party, she realizes. She should have known. She had thought she’d been clever enough, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>she should have known.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I see. Has he seen a healer?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jalby sighs, nearly fed up. “I is not thinking so, Miss. But Mrs. Astoria and Miss Daphne is being quite worried. If you is staying here, Miss, please, I is to be telling Mrs. Malfoy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right, thank you,” she agrees, keeping her face calm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jalby sulks away, and the minute he enters the study down the long hallway, she casts a quick spell to muffle the sounds of her footsteps and nearly sprints up the central staircase to Draco’s room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When she gets to the door, she opens it quietly and steps in. It is quite dark, but she sees a prone figure lying in the bed. She steps closer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Lumos,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> she whispers, and she gasps as the light brings Draco into full view.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looks - oh gods, he looks dreadful. His skin is sallow, somehow even paler than usual, face flecked with beads of sweat. His body is trembling, twitching about, and this is no magical malady that she can immediately identify.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It looks like life is being leached from his body.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His eyes flutter open for a moment under the light of her wand. Her heart sinks as she rushes forward to his side, nearly collapsing next to him, and he squints at her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Granger...?” he asks quietly, voice scratching. His lips twitch slightly at her. “S’not you, is it, Granger? Must be dreaming again...”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His eyelids start to close, and she quickly grasps his hand and gently shakes him. “Draco...oh, Draco, it’s me. Stay awake for me, will you? I’m going to get you out of here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hermione...?” he whispers, eyes wide and voice almost reverent.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Draco, what - I need to get you out of here. What happened, can you walk?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He reaches a shaky hand up and gently brushes his fingers against her cheek, a smile flickering on his face for a moment. “I’m glad you came.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I - I had to,” she admits quietly, ignoring his caress as she reaches under his arms in an attempt to sit him up. She might have thought he would be too ill to play with her emotions with his typical fake-flirting, and yet it seems to be simply a natural thing for him to do.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She thinks levitating him might be too dangerous in his state, especially if she will need her wand to fight their way out, and he is clearly in no shape to apparate or floo. His fingers which she is trying desperately to ignore are cold and clammy against her cheek. “I knew you weren’t hungover when we met at the bazaar, I knew it. You were sick, then, weren’t you? Come on, let’s get you up. What happened Draco, will you tell me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She has to keep him awake and get him walking. She has to get him to her car. She has to lead him through a house filled with enemies and drive him away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She takes a deep, steadying breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You thought I was drunk,” he laughs tiredly, leaning heavily against her as she helps him off the bed. He is so much taller than her that it is incredibly awkward, but she lets him rest his weight on her shoulders and wraps her arm around him. She remembers the first night of their reunion when she had similarly dragged his drunken self down a Parisian alleyway to safety just before he kissed her for the first time and she tightens her grasp around him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just for a moment. Come on, Draco, one step at a time. No - don’t fall asleep. Talk to me, what happened?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They poisoned me,” he whispers, breath hot against her ear. “Daphne, Astoria...I tried to stop it, but...too late. Sorry...I’m sorry, Granger. For - lots of things. Always meant to tell...”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She is unsurprised to hear that Daphne was a culprit, but Astoria? She has a difficult time reconciling that with her kind, sweet, temporary friend who had been so in love.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s fine, Draco. Come on. Three more steps and we’ll be out of the room, alright? And then we’ll go down the stairs, and we’ll get you out of here, okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thought I’d never see you again,” he mumbles into her neck.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She tightens her grip around his waist. She glances out into the hallway and down the stairs. No one is there yet that she can see. Feeling intensely exposed, she dearly wants to cast a disillusionment charm, but with as much noise as Draco is making it would surely render the spell ineffective.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She takes a deep, shuddering breath and glances over at Draco. He has dark purplish rings under his eyes and seems to be falling asleep upon her. Quickly cataloguing his symptoms, she wonders if they might have been using Concentrated Deathroot Poison, or even some sort of Behemoth’s Venom. Powdered asphodel extract would surely cause lethargy. Either option would be slow acting, and easily cured in small amounts, but she is sure that he has been ingesting large quantities for over a month at this point.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He slowly starts to collapse, leaning heavily on her shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Please, please stay awake Draco. I had to come back for you, didn’t I?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I have to keep you safe.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He lets out a deep breath and nearly nuzzles her neck. “Oh Granger...I wanted you to come. But you know, I...can’t always get what I want,” he mumbles, chest shaking against her slightly in what might be an attempt at a chuckle. “Bartender told me that once.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She almost groans in exasperation as he leans even more heavily against her. Her arm is going numb from the awkward way she is supporting him. “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know.</span>
  </em>
  <span> I was the bartender, you dolt, that was me. I was spying on you. Come on now, another step, there are twenty steps down the stairs and then we can go.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He gazes at her in amazement for a long moment before shuffling forward. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“You</span>
  </em>
  <span> were my bartender...s’like making potions, I suppose, but you were </span>
  <em>
    <span>awful</span>
  </em>
  <span> at it,” his chortle turns into a cough. “Granger. Granger. Hermione, hey. They’re going to the Necropolis. I heard Viridian...your </span>
  <em>
    <span>boyfriend </span>
  </em>
  <span>Kershaw, too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The ritual site. The Necropolis - the Ancient City of the Dead. Him, being snarky about her love life.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s very good, Draco. We’ll talk about it later, okay? Keep moving, alright?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why’d you come for me, Granger?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She thinks she hears voices from down the hall and glances around sharply.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hermione?” he continues weakly. “Tell me. Why’d you come?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I had to find you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She doesn’t see anyone yet, but they’re coming, they’re coming.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Because I love you, you idiot.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Because.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Because why?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Because I love you, you idiot,” she inadvertently snaps in a whisper, shifting her weight under him. Her eyes widen as heart skips a beat and she can feel his gaze on her. No small part of her hopes that if they survive, maybe he’ll not remember much in the way of her distressingly unsubtle confession later on. “Come on, fifteen more steps. I love you and I had to tell you before you got us both killed, didn’t I?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She spares a quick glance at him and can hardly tear her eyes away. His face is gaunt and his eyes are tired, but a slow, beautiful smile spreads across his face, and he is looking at her as if she is the only thing that matters in the entire world.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He is not sneering or arrogant. It seems as though he is just - happy. For a moment she almost finds herself smiling back at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She wants to drown in his gaze, but approaching footsteps keep her grounded in their treacherous reality. She keeps one arm around Draco and the other clasping her wand, ready to draw it at a moment's notice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You love me,” he whispers in awe. “You love me? Are you sure? Say it again.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She does, she is, and she will, but it sounds like one person is approaching, possibly two. Wearing heels from the sound of it, so most likely a woman. If it’s Violet Evilian, then they’re dead. If it’s Daphne or Astoria, then they may have a chance if Hermione is quick enough.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I love you, Draco. I love you.” Her voice is shaky and she wishes she could savor the moment even though he hasn’t exactly said the words back, but the heels click closer and closer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She sees an approaching shadow and her heart thuds violently.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You love me,” he breathes heavily, leaning in to press his nose to her cheek and attempting something like a kiss with his lips. His breath is warm against her skin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria Malfoy emerges from the hallway and gapes up at them from the first floor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I almost didn’t believe it when Jalby told me it was you,” Astoria says quietly, slowly coming up the steps towards them. “You have some nerve coming back here after...what are you doing? Draco, dear, you should be resting-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m taking him to a hospital, Astoria,” she replies, staring at her brief friend pitilessly. “They’ll be able to get the </span>
  <em>
    <span>poison</span>
  </em>
  <span> out of him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“‘Tori?” Draco mumbles quietly, and her heart clenches.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria pales dramatically and takes another step closer, eyes darting back and forth between the two of them. “P-poison?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on, Draco, one more step. Yes, poison. Don’t play dumb with me, Astoria. I assume your friends down there don’t know about it, do they? Surely not, or you would have killed him right away. Is Sebek-ari down there? Shall I inform him that you married a spy, and that the Ministry knows about everything that has been going on in this house due to your negligence?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“No-!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Astoria gasps, bringing a hand to her chest. “Hermione, no, please, you can’t - they’ll kill me, probably Daphne and my father too, and they’ll kill the both of you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hears more voices from down the hall and descends another step, shaking faintly under the weight of carrying Draco, but she keeps her hand poised near her wand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She levels Astoria with a hard stare and speaks quickly but quietly. “You don’t have many options right now, Astoria. If you go for your wand, know that I’m faster. If you tell them what’s happening, we all die. If you come with me, we might all manage to stay alive for now. It’s up to you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria’s eyes are brimmed with tears.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione leads Draco down another step.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He mumbles something unintelligible into her neck and leans even more heavily against her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The voices from down the hall get louder as the shadows approach.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Six steps to go, then across the foyer to the front door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s going on here?” asks Daphne, voice sharp. She is followed by a curious yet bored looking Ackerly Viridian, a stern-faced Sebek-ari, and a frowning Gideon Greengrass.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There are no allies here, only enemies.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione takes a deep breath and whispers to Astoria, “Don’t forget what they did to Zabini. They killed him, didn’t they? For much less than this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is he doing worse?” asks Viridian breezily, not seeming particularly concerned. “I was quite worried about this. Didn’t I say so? Are you taking him to a hospital?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria is wide-eyed and frozen two steps below.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne is watching them with a simmering hatred in her eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” Hermione answers concisely after leveling Astoria with a look before muttering quietly to Draco, “Come on, love, two more steps.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He groans quietly and she nearly buckles under his weight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One step away from Astoria, then three more to go.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria reaches up to grasp her arm, eyes frozen with fear. “Hermione, I don’t want to die,” she whispers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Need any help there, ladies?” asks Viridian, frowning and taking a tentative step towards them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sebek-ari is watching them intently, eyes narrowing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you want to live then answer him, and help me with Draco. Quickly.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria lets out a shuddering gasp before moving to Draco’s right, wrapping his other arm around her shoulder. “We’re fine, Ackerly, thank you. I, ah, asked Hermione to come help. She’s a dear friend, see, and she has some healing experience. We’re all quite worried about Draco.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne’s eyes flash dangerously, but she remains quiet, clearly sensing the predicament her sister is in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good,” Hermione whispers, focusing on the steps ahead. Her burden feels much lighter with Astoria’s help, but her heart is still drumming so rapidly that her chest aches. “We’re almost there, Draco. Hang on a little longer.” She casts a quick glance over at the group watching them and raises her voice. “He is too ill to travel magically, and I fear anything too intensive might make it worse. I have a vehicle that we can use.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She thinks she sees Daphne’s hand twitch towards her wand, but she doesn’t watch long enough to confirm as she turns to face the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh gods,” whispers Astoria shakily.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s alright,” she whispers back, attempting to convince both Astoria and herself of the fact. “We’re almost there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hears slow footsteps from behind her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tori,” calls Daphne in a dangerous voice. “You’ll contact us right away, won’t you? From the hospital? Once you have news?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She takes another deep breath and a step forward.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco’s head lolls to the side and he coughs heavily.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’ll need to find a way to keep Astoria with her once they leave, else she’ll return to Daphne and it might all be over anyway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course,” Astoria responds with a hitched breath, eyes darting over to Hermione for a moment in fear.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She waits a moment, expecting to take a sudden stunner to the back at any moment from any of the group behind her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on, just through the door now,” she whispers almost desperately, heart racing so fast that she thinks it might explode from the pressure.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She can feel Daphne and Sebek-ari staring daggers into her back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They take another step and they are through the doorway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Granger,” she hears Daphne say stiffly as they step through the threshold. “I’ll be sure to think of a way to repay you for this...</span>
  <em>
    <span>kindness.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Be sure of that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She clenches her jaw and keeps moving forward.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Together, she and Astoria manage to load Draco into the back seat of her car. A single tear slowly rolls down Astoria’s cheek as she visibly shudders.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Granger...?” mutters Draco quietly, eyes fluttering open and closed quickly. “Hermione...”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A quiet, strangled sob escapes Astoria’s lips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione hears muted words from the group still lingering near the door, and she forces herself to take a deep breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They can still fire off stunners and end this. They can shoot curses at the car. They can trap them and torture them and poison them to death and no one would be able to stop them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m here, Draco,” she whispers quickly before rushing into the driver’s seat and after the briefest moment of debate, letting Astoria into the front passenger’s. She wants to reach back and take Draco’s hand into her own, but Sebek-ari is still there, still watching like a hawk, so she puts the car in drive and tries to stay calm and not immediately tear away from the hellish house.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She takes Astoria’s trembling hand in her grasp instead, and the girl gazes at her in despair, lower lip quivering, but she nods slowly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her heart thuds violently in her chest, and Astoria’s eyes are screwed shut.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Together, slowly, they squeeze each other’s hands.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione takes a deep breath, holds it, and drives away.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Hermione 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Gentle reminder as we careen towards the endgame about the 'Graphic Depictions of Violence' warning attached to this story.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Protect Harry and Ginny. Protect the Weasleys. Protect her parents. Protect Draco, protect Draco, protect Draco.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione keeps her eyes on Draco in the guarded hospital room. He is still disturbingly pale, but the healer had informed her that Draco - or, Mr. Smith, according to the information provided to the hospital upon their arrival - is in a state that appears to be easily treatable, provided he is able to rest comfortably.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She slips her hand into his as she brushes a sweaty strand of platinum blond hair from his forehead, whispering softly, “You’ll be </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine.</span>
  </em>
  <span> You’d better be.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His eyes flutter open for a brief moment and he smiles weakly at her with no hint of a sneer before swiftly settling back into unconsciousness.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hears a sharp intake of breath from the doorway and looks up to see Astoria, observing the scene with wide eyes, brimming with tears.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She stares back heavily, not letting go of Draco’s hand, but remembering the devastated look on the girl’s face after ‘catching’ her and Draco in the garden the night of the equinox party.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They - had almost been friends, once, hadn’t they?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But she tried to </span>
  <em>
    <span>poison </span>
  </em>
  <span>him to death, and it is all very difficult to reconcile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione watches closely as Astoria takes a cautious step forward, non-threateningly removing a wand from her pocket - Draco’s wand - and placing it on the nightstand next to his bed. Her hands are trembling slightly as she shakily pulls up a chair to sit next to Hermione, somewhat slumping into it. “So...you and Draco...”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You tried to kill him, Astoria,” she interrupts frostily, not inclined to discuss anything about their confusing pseudo-relationship with his wife.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria shudders slightly. “That was Daphne’s idea. I - I </span>
  <em>
    <span>love </span>
  </em>
  <span>him. I didn’t want...”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione watches Astoria closely as she gazes longingly at Draco, unconscious in the hospital bed. The girl looks overwhelmed and exhausted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And - heartbroken.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t want any of this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If that’s really true,” Hermione starts slowly. “Then you should help me stop them. You don’t really want them to succeed, do you? If they do, they’ll kill us all. Astoria, I can’t imagine that you actually want that to happen.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A tear leaks out of Astoria’s eye and slowly rolls down her cheek. “I - love my family, I do. My sister, my father. Even Sebek-ari is family to me, in a way. But all of this...bringing back the Dark Lord? It’s wrong. I know it is. It’s foul magic, it goes against the very laws of nature itself. I don’t know what to do, Hermione, I...”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She can feel Astoria teetering on the edge. Roger will show up at any moment and prevent her from taking any action, but if she can just get Astoria to agree then they can leave quickly enough to do something. “Astoria...I want to stop them. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>have</span>
  </em>
  <span> to stop them, and I need you to help me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria’s entire body quivers, but after a moment she nods, and Hermione lets out a relieved exhale.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She somewhat regretfully drops Draco’s hand and stands. “The ritual is happening tonight, isn’t it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria nods.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“At the Necropolis?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria looks up, eyes sad and surprised. She nods again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay. We need to get out of here. Come with me, okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria gazes desperately at Draco one last time before nodding once more.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione looks at him as well, and her heart nearly weeps at how sickly he looks, but she thinks he is as safe as he could possibly be. They checked him in under an alias, and she had cast several quick protective spells on his room herself. Nothing particularly powerful or long-term, but as long as she doesn’t get herself knocked unconscious, they should last long enough.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Roger is coming with the aurors soon, and they will ensure his safety.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’ll be </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hadn’t actually said that he loves her back, and maybe he doesn’t, but-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But it really doesn’t matter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She leans in and presses a quick kiss to his forehead. “I’m going to keep you safe. No matter what,” she promises in a whisper before spinning on her heels and leading a dismayed looking Astoria out of the room to the apparition point.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Feeling a need to regroup, she takes them directly to her own suite at the Hotel Shenei. They have nearly the full day until sundown, and she quickly catalogues what she needs to do.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria can provide the details of the ritual, and she’ll need to find out more about the layout of the Necropolis. If she can’t disrupt the ritual herself, she’ll need to ensure the aurors have enough information to do so. She should contact Amir, and-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you love him?” Astoria asks quietly, sitting on the couch in her sitting room and gazing absently at the floor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hesitates for a moment, reflecting on the surprisingly fond moments she and Astoria had shared over the course of their brief friendship which had, for the most part, felt quite real. She thinks that the woman deserves the truth, at least, for once.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I do,” she replies softly, cringing somewhat guiltily as Astoria’s face cracks with emotion. Her hands twitch at her side and she feels her nearly overwhelming exhaustion most keenly. “From - before.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And...you sent him to spy on me? To marry me? None of it was real?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her heart aches, and that monstrous feeling makes its way back to the surface with a vengeance. She moves to sit next to Astoria on the couch with a heavy sigh, unsure exactly how to respond. ‘He was quite fond of you’ doesn’t seem proper, nor does ‘I didn’t want him to go to you,’ nor does ‘he broke my heart long before he broke yours and he just might do it again.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria watches the surely odd expressions playing out on her face before casting her eyes downwards. “...That’s truly awful, you know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” she whispers, despite not having had enough time to analyze her own emotional response. She is sure that in the end, ‘sorry’ will assuredly be accurate, at least about something, to someone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria takes a shuddering breath, clearly trying her best to rein in her tears.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Astoria...” she sighs again. She feels awful for her almost-friend, but time is running out. “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am</span>
  </em>
  <span> sorry, truly, but I need you to tell me everything you know about the ritual. Please.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria’s shoulders sag somewhat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looks absolutely devastated.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her voice is soft when she starts to speak. “I don’t know much, beyond that Sebek-ari’s people mined enough orichalcum powder and stored it in the Estate. They’re transporting it to the Necropolis today via portkey, so as not to be disrupted by the auror spies. But - you already knew about the orichalcum, didn’t you? You and Draco broke into the cellar the night you...”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The night you kissed him.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...the night of the Equinox party.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, we knew,” she replies quietly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria shuts her eyes heavily. “Daphne was far more involved with all of this than me. I know they’ll be setting up the powder in a pentagram. Or a heptagram, maybe, I honestly don’t know Hermione, in the center of the Necropolis.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And then?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria shrugs helplessly. “I don’t really know. From there I suppose they intend to summon the ifrit and ask it to resurrect the Dark Lord. They have that awful knife which is a part of it. Sebek-ari acquired it some time ago, I’m sure, though I don’t know from whom. Like I said, Daphne was more involved with all of this. They just let me hold onto the cellar key, and clearly I failed them at even that, so perhaps they were wise not to trust me with anything more useful.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She thinks about the symbols on the runeknife and desperately hopes that the aurors are already at the hospital.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you know anything about a sacrifice?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria blinks at looks at her, face wavering between broken and unsurprised. “No, but...”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria shrugs weakly again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione huffs frustratedly, no further along after this conversation than she was beforehand. She quickly makes a decision to find out as much as she possibly can about the ritual before charging into the Necropolis blindly, not wanting to accidentally get anyone sacrificed over the course of the evening.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With a heavy, tired sigh, she rummages through her satchel until she finds one of her last Wide-eye Potion flasks. “Astoria, I need to go check on something that might help. Stay here, alright?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria’s eyes widen in a near panic. “Hermione, please-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There are more than enough protective spells in place here, so you will be safe. I’ll be back shortly. I promise. Alright?” She shudders as she tosses back the thick, greenish liquid and her skin prickles as it courses through her body.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I...” Astoria trails off uncomfortably.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hesitantly, she reaches out to gently touch Astoria’s hand with her fingertips and offers what is hopefully a reassuring, if somewhat twitchy, smile. “Astoria - look, I know you’ve no reason to trust me, but I promise you’ll be safe here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria looks far from mollified but nods, bringing a hand delicately to her lovely face to wipe away a single tear.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At that, Hermione reaches down to grab her satchel, tosses it across her shoulder and quickly apparates to the Sleepy Shoe Inn. She marches straight up to Devlin’s room. Rapping on the door quickly, she shifts impatiently as she waits for him to answer her knock.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He does so almost immediately and, not seeming surprised to see her, opens the door widely to let her into his room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Merlin, Hermione, I assume you haven’t slept a wink since I saw you yesterday?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Haven’t had time. Any luck with those runes?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Devlin sighs and leads her to the couch where he had nearly kissed her the day before. “Some. Merlin’s beard, you look exhausted. Look, just sit down for a minute, alright? I’ll get us some tea and show you what I found so far.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She narrows her eyes at him. “Dev, please, I don’t have time for tea-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hermione, this is the second time in two days you’ve sat on my couch looking as though you’re about to faint. You’ll have some tea, and that’s final.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She still has nearly the entire day left before sundown, but every second feels crucial, and she turns to tell him that but he is already at work fixing her Earl Grey.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She sighs and shifts uncomfortably on the couch, begrudgingly admitting that he might have a point. Her hands are shaking somewhat. It really has been more than a month since she got any reasonable amount of sleep, and there are only so many Wide-eye Potions and adrenaline bursts she can subsist on before inevitably collapsing. Her near panic attack during her escape with Draco and Astoria from the Estate surely hadn’t done her any favors.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It would be quite a shame to expire from exhaustion before even managing to make her way to the Necropolis.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Devlin gently presses a teacup into her hands, fingers gently brushing against hers, before taking a seat in the chair nearby and watching her warily. Not very much interested in having him waste more time fussing over her, she takes a quick sip of tea for his benefit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Those Ministry blokes you work with, they’re trying to kill you on this assignment, aren’t they,” he mutters quietly, eyes darting over her apprehensively. “What are they asking you to do?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing I can’t handle. Tell me about the knife.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He has an incredibly nervous expression on his face, and she wonders if she really looks </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> awful.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One day left.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She can sleep tomorrow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If she is still alive.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Devlin takes out the photographs from the previous day and gestures towards the blood-red symbols on the blade. “You were right about these two. Blood, and sacrifice, though it’s a bit more complex than that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She takes another sip of tea and nods. The room seems somewhat brighter than it should be and she feels a bit dizzy. She thinks she may need at least one more Wide-eye Potion before the day is over, despite the fact that her eyes are itchy and her skin feels as though it’s attempting to crawl desperately away from the rest of her body.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This one here? It accentuates the blood rune. I’d prefer to consult Blishen’s theories on runic metalworks before committing to an answer, but I can tell you it’s an old one. I believe it means family. The female variant - a mother, or a sister perhaps.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A wave of nausea nearly overcomes her. She takes a breath and holds it for a moment, pressing a tired hand to her mouth and waiting for the sensation to pass.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Blood. Sacrifice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mother.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sister?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She thinks about Astoria, alone in her hotel suite, and if she didn’t already feel sick to her stomach then she surely would upon digesting this new information.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hermione? You alright?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, I’m fine,” she snaps, though the words sound heavy in her mouth. “But - sister, really? You’re sure?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He nods gravely, still observing her closely.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dammit,” she breathes tiredly, shutting her eyes for a moment. “Dev - thank you. I need to go.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You - really don’t look well, Hermione. You should rest here a bit.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No time,” she grunts out. Her teeth feel aggressively cold, somehow, despite the hot tea. She takes a final quick sip from her cup and unsteadily prepares to depart.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Please, Hermione. Whatever this is, can’t Malfoy handle it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She stares at him for a long moment. There is real concern in his eyes, but something-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something is wrong.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dev, I...” she frowns, trying to piece her memory together properly through the odd hazy feeling overtaking her. A smirking blond pops into her mind, looking almost peaceful lying unconscious on his hospital bed. “I don’t believe I’ve ever mentioned Malfoy with respect to any of this...have I?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He narrows his eyes at her. “Sure, you have. Several times. Your very problematic colleague.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She is nearly sure that she has never mentioned Draco by name in front of Devlin - why would she have? She shivers slightly, suddenly feeling a little overwhelmed. She blinks heavily, and when she opens her eyes somehow Devlin has materialized at her side.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dev? I think...” she trails off, struck by a sudden sense of dizziness as the world tilts in front of her. She turns to face him, staring deeply into his concerned, dazzlingly blue eyes for a moment. Her eyelids feel remarkably heavy, and she blinks again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When she opens her eyes, the room is strangely sideways, and she lethargically realizes she has fallen off the couch. Her cup of tea is on the ground next to her, remaining liquid spilled on the rug, steaming and hissing unnaturally. Devlin is holding her in his arms and her heart thumps painfully in her chest. She tries to suck in a breath but her lungs seem to spasm and reject all but the barest amounts of air.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dev, wh-what-” she starts, hearing her wavering voice start to slur. Her tongue feels unnaturally thick and heavy in her mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>What did you do to me? </span>
  </em>
  <span>she wants to ask as a sense of horror begins to dawn upon her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Poison. It was poison, or a drug of some sort. He - couldn’t have really </span>
  <em>
    <span>drugged</span>
  </em>
  <span> her though, could he have?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, love,” he says, or maybe he whispers, his voice sounds so far away. “I’m so sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bloodroot poison perhaps? Or moonseed, maybe, based on the rapid onset of dizziness and-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A small, weak groan makes its way out of her throat as her eyes flutter shut, and when she opens them again she is in the same spot on the ground, but lower, as Devlin is no longer supporting her. He is standing above her, speaking in a hushed voice to-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne Greengrass and Violet Evilian, both of whom are staring at her like hungry, starving wolves.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A heavy pulse is throbbing in her head, and it feels as though her skull might crack from the pressure.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A wand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She needs - a wand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But where-?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s in her pocket.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her arms feel full of lead and they refuse to move at her command, remaining limp and lifeless at her side. She tries again, and her vision darkens for a moment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A soft, desperate moan escapes her lips with the effort.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne is suddenly standing directly above her, wand drawn and looking down with inhumanly fiery eyes. “Where’s my sister, you bitch?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She can hardly manage a whimper in response as the world swims in and out of focus.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne lets out a growl and rears back before delivering a sharp kick to Hermione’s ribs followed by another one to the side of her head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She cries out weakly at the stinging pain searing through her body. Her vision goes dark again as she gasps for breath, and she thinks she hears a shout but there is a loud ringing in her head for several seconds as she curls up upon herself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Crucio-!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>An ugly flash of red impacts against the floor not far from her face and she vaguely wonders when Daphne managed to acquire a talent for casting unforgivable curses.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shivers and looks around wildly for Devlin. Her vision seems to be lagging behind the movement of her eyes, but when it catches up he appears to be holding onto Daphne’s wand arm and speaking. She can’t hear the words he is saying. It’s as though he is speaking underwater, muffled words bubbling up to the surface only to pop nearly noiselessly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She blinks and forces herself to swallow heavily. Her mouth feels fuzzy. The pressure in her head eases for a moment with a hollow pop in her ears.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...you promised,” Devlin is telling them as the ringing subsides, glancing down at her briefly, eyes flashing with concern. “Daphne. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Daph,</span>
  </em>
  <span> please. Please. She doesn’t get hurt, right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She has my sister, Grant,” Daphne hisses furiously, voice fading in and out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Violet takes a step closer, twirling her wand menacingly in her hand. The reverberation of her boot on the hardwood floor echoes heavily in Hermione’s head, jumbling all her thoughts about.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She - needs her wand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her arms still refuse to cooperate.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I believe the promise was that your little teacher’s pet lives, for now. Nobody said a thing about her physical welfare.” At that, Violet grins down at her, purple eyes flashing maniacally as she raises her boot in the air.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait-” she hears Devlin gasp from somewhere in the distance.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She distantly tries to remember what her last words to Draco were and if he even would have been aware enough to have heard them, and when Violet’s boot makes contact with her face with a sickening crunch, everything turns bright red before abruptly fading to black.</span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Hermione 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Hermione tastes blood, thick and coppery in the back of her throat when she wakes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She reaches up to tentatively touch her nose and winces as a stabbing pain shoots through her nerves, and she takes a shuddering gasp of a breath through her mouth before looking around the room. Her ribs ache, and it is quite difficult to breathe. Her eyes are bleary and her body fairly quakes with the effort of sitting up, but she tries to calm the swelling of panic within and analyze the situation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She has changed location since she passed out at Devlin’s hotel room. The air feels heavy and dank around her. She is in some sort of small, dark, old prison cell, complete with prison bars. The faintest candles glimmer outside her cell and there is no visible door. If only she had a wand she could likely activate the entrance, but nothing for it. She wonders who has her wand - Violet, probably, if not Daphne.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aside from her nose surely being broken, severe bruising at the minimum in her ribs, a fairly intense dizziness, and likely Violet Evilian’s bootprint on her face, she cannot detect any other physical impediments. Her hands and legs remain unbound, though she is alone for the moment and unable to take advantage of that fact.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She tries to sniff the air and cringes again at the shooting pain through her nose. She takes a slow, deep breath through her mouth instead, which achingly wracks her possibly broken ribs. Every movement is agony, so she settles for ineffectively shallow breaths through her mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shifts, attempting to fight through the twinging of her body and sit herself up against the old brick wall. The coloring of the wall reminds her of the ancient Shrine of Sekhmet, which she had visited hardly a day earlier with Devlin and Amir.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Devlin - her heart aches to think of the overwhelming sense of betrayal. He must have drugged her tea, but why? She has known him for </span>
  <em>
    <span>years,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and he has never given any indication of being the sort to get involved with a literal Death Cult. He was a researcher for goodness sake, and a proficient one at that. She had always operated under the assumption that he at least held her in some genuine sort of high regard, if not quite a bit more than that for a time. He had even tried to kiss her less than one day prior. It - doesn’t make sense, and the more she thinks on it, the more her head seems to ache.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She tries not to dwell on it. No matter the reason for his betrayal, it doesn’t change the situation she finds herself in now. She has to escape. Somehow. Her best bet is to wait until some guard approaches - Daphne or Violet, perhaps, or some other ally of theirs - and lure them closer until she can give herself a chance to physically overpower them, despite her current somewhat fragile state. Else, there is a chance Roger, if he cares to, might be able to piece her situation together if enough time passes without her checking in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her mind immediately flashes to Astoria, sitting in the hotel room and nervously awaiting her return. Devlin had said something about the glyphs on the runeknife - a female variant. A mother, or a sister. He might have been lying simply to stall her, but what if he hadn’t been? Astoria could be in trouble.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thinking of Astoria makes her think of Draco, likely still recovering in his hospital bed, and she wonders if her last words to him will end up having been mumbled quietly while he slept instead of something - something else, something more, before she banishes him from her mind altogether.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shuts her eyes for a moment and tries to take another shuddering deep breath, focusing her energies on the occlumency skills she has picked up over the years to calm herself. Expecting there might be a pending interrogation of some sort, she puts her mental defenses into place. She is no expert at occlumency, but she has surely gotten enough practice since that first day in Paris attempting to stuff her Draco-related emotions as far away as she possibly could. It might be enough to stop most mind-invasion attempts, aside from a truly accomplished legilimens, or at least delay them for a time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She waits in silence, wondering how much time has passed. Surely the time for the ritual must be approaching.</span>
</p>
<p><span>After a time, she hears footsteps approaching from the darkness outside her cell. She looks up sharply, stomach dropping when she sees Violet Evilian’s disturbing, maniacal eyes descend the stairs and approach her cell,</span> <span>accompanied by none other than Devlin himself.</span></p>
<p>
  <span>“See?” Violet says as they approach the cell. “Your little teacher’s pet is still alive, as promised.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Devlin lets out a sharp exhale and rushes forward, grasping the bars with his hands tightly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Violet smirks and leans back against the yellowish brick wall, watching.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione looks up at Devlin, possessing neither the energy nor the inclination to stand up and greet him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hermione,” he starts, voice low. “Oh, Hermione, I - are you hurt?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She stares at him blankly. She can feel that the blood which had undoubtedly been pouring from her broken nose has left a crusting trail since drying on her face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You are, you’re hurt - come closer, love, let me heal you.” His voice wavers and he sounds almost desperate.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dev...” Her voice is scratchy and it is somewhat painful to talk. She wishes she had a wand if only to conjure some water, if not to hex the piss out of him. “You </span>
  <em>
    <span>drugged</span>
  </em>
  <span> me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His face falls as he watches her, face thick with worried lines. “I am sorry, you know. I never thought that you would get hurt, else I never would have...please, Hermione, let me fix your nose at least, will you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She doesn’t budge and continues to stare at him coldly. “Why, Dev?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He clearly understands that she is not referring to his pleading and he shifts his weight uneasily, sparing a backwards glance towards the looming Violet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hermione...you don’t - oh, please don’t look at me like that, you don’t know what it is. It - well, I was just helping interpret some runes, that’s all this was. Daphne, she - when she came to me she insisted it was all theoretical. The runes, they were quite unique - it was fascinating! I thought - well, you know, I thought I might write a paper about it. Believe me, you would’ve been excited too. But - I’m not one of them, you know that, don’t you? I - thought it was all for research, I didn’t know what they were really doing,” he insists unconvincingly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shakes her head slowly at his rambling as she grasps the cell bars with shaking hands.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s enough pillow talk, Teach,” interrupts a grinning Violet Evilian. “It’s time for girl talk now - no boys allowed. Go back upstairs and wait. Fear not - I’ve managed not to kill your precious little pet yet, and I promise not to kill her in the meantime.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Violet’s maniacally toothy grin makes Hermione entirely unsure of the accuracy of her statement.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Devlin clearly feels the same way, glancing uneasily between the two of them. He spares her one final sad gaze before sighing, slouching his shoulders and shuffling back up the stairs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She watches him go, heart racing and fairly aching at the betrayal, but desperately wishing he would stay and not leave her alone with Ron’s murderer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ron’s murderer who she has sworn to kill, and yet she finds herself alone, wandless and wounded.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Stay calm, Hermione,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Dead Ron whispers, little more than a comforting buzzing in her head. She clings desperately to the sound of his voice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Violet remains, staring at her for a moment with her bright grin frozen in place, before she takes several steps forward towards the bars of the cell.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hermione Granger,” she breathes slowly, menacingly enunciating each syllable in her name as though savoring them, like a delicious meal. The hairs on the back of Hermione’s neck rise to stand at attention as the woman closes on her. With a casual wand flick, a door to the cell appears and the woman enters the room with her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She doesn’t move, watching her captor closely and steadying her painful breathing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Daphne really doesn’t like you, did you know that? She wants you dead, I believe, and in a rather painful fashion. I asked her not to kill you straight away, however. I feel as though we’ve known each other for years, you and I, and I couldn’t let her do that to an old friend without letting me say farewell first,” Violet continues, taking a step forward towards her. She moves languidly, like a mountain lion stalking its helpless prey, and something about the violent insanity behind the woman’s eyes reminds Hermione of Bellatrix Lestrange.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is that so?” she offers neutrally in response, attempting to still the violent beating of her heart. Her voice is still scratchy, and it seems even further off key due to the mangled state of her nose.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh yes,” Violet nearly hisses, voice dragging over the ‘s’ heavily. “I’m a professional, you see. I always do my homework on a mark before I make a move. I used to spend quite a lot of time watching you, Hermione. I was astounded, actually, how easy it was to off your man Weasley.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her heart slams against her battered rib cage but she refuses to react, even as Violet smiles disturbingly at her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You do know that it was me who killed him, don’t you? I’m sure you know, since you’ve been looking for me ever since. Oh yes, I know all about your little investigation. I used a curse on him that I invented myself, did you like it? I might’ve expected more of a challenge, not only because he was an auror, but particularly because of what they say about </span>
  <em>
    <span>you.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Why?</span>
  </em>
  <span> she wants to ask desperately. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why did you kill him?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ron, bleeding and faceless in her arms-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She wills her own face to stay expressionless behind a layer of magic even as her body trembles in rebellion against her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Violet’s lips spread slowly into a more menacing smile. “I must say, I feel rather like a proud teacher. I know how you yearn for your teacher’s approval, don’t you? It explains the old Professor, at any rate. But, thanks to me, you’ve dramatically strengthened the protective spells on your home and your office. I do check in on you from time to time. Now, Hermione dear, I’m no healer but I think you’ve been drinking too much as of late. You ought to be careful - that stuff might kill you one day.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Violet giggles madly, her blood runs cold in her veins at the thought of the mad woman not only somehow getting by both her magical protections and muggle alarms, but poking around her belongings. Hermione can’t help but wonder why she would do such a thing. She had known Violet was something of a psychopath, but her intense unease at having become something of an obsession rises with every word out of the woman’s mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You should be honored, you know,” Violet continues smilingly, taking another step closer. “I only look in on my more interesting victims. The </span>
  <em>
    <span>boring</span>
  </em>
  <span> survivors never get a house call from me, don’t you worry about that. Ever the teacher’s pet, you are.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione clenches her fists, ready to lunge if the woman gets anywhere near striking distance. She imagines breaking Violet’s terrifyingly beautiful face with a violent strike. She can’t tell what Violet’s goals are with this oddly complimentary conversation, but if the intent is to make Hermione incredibly anxious then it has certainly been accomplished in spades.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Violet pauses, twirling her wand in her fingers and still out of reach. She continues talking in an almost sweet sing-songy voice. “I did think you and your darling auror made quite a cute couple, Hermione. Much more so than you and our dear Professor. A little old for you, isn’t he? Tell me, Hermione, have you been fucking Draco Malfoy?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her heart skids to a screeching halt at the mention of his name and she tries to keep her body still. She sees him in her mind, lying helpless and unconscious in the hospital bed and begs her face to remain expressionless. Is this what Violet wants? She wants to find Draco? To what end?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Keep him safe keep him safe oh gods keep him safe-</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Violet clearly sees something in her face that gives her away, and she lets out an awful high-pitched laugh, like nails grinding to the nub against a chalkboard in her ears. “Daphne and I had a wager on it. I’m afraid I owe her ten galleons. I would never have imagined you to be amoral enough to shag a married man, what with all they say about you, how shocking. Can’t say I blame you, however. He is a rather pretty looking bloke, I daresay. Quite a bit less cerebral than your Professor Devlin, though for your sake I hope he’s less of a stick in the mud. Hermione Granger, everyone’s favorite Mudblood, shagging a notorious Death Eater. How </span>
  <em>
    <span>fascinating </span>
  </em>
  <span>you continue to be, my dear old friend.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shivers and feels sick but tries to keep her emotions in check when she hears another set of heavy footsteps descending the staircase. For a desperate moment she lets herself hope that it’s Draco, somehow miraculously recovered and here to rescue her, or maybe Devlin, struck with guilt and wanting to make amends. Or ideally Roger got his </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit</span>
  </em>
  <span> together and called the raid team- but no, she can’t seem to stumble upon any luck these days. Instead of a rescue party, the menacing, deadly figure of Sebek-ari approaches, face hard and violent and cold.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well?” he says to Violet as he strides into the cell.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, we were just finishing up a bit of girl-talk,” Violet half-sings in response. “What do you say, Hermione, my treasured friend? Will you tell me where the Greengrass girl is? Or shall I make a personal visit to every hospital in the country searching for our favorite blond pretty-boy? I promise you this - after I find him, that face of his won’t be nearly as pretty the next time you see him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her stomach plummets and she shudders, thinking of Ron’s faceless corpse and thinking of Draco all alone in the hospital and feeling overwhelmingly helpless. If it had just been one person in the cell, she might have had a chance for a quick disarming strike, but with two experienced wand-armed enemies the odds are exponentially stacked against her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe - if she can get Violet close enough, maybe, just maybe she can grab her wrist and wrench her wand away. Maybe she can use her as a shield to block Sebek-ari’s inevitable attack.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sebek-ari’s dark eyes are watching her like a hawk. “You have two options, Ms. Granger,” he starts, baritone voice strong and confident. “You can tell us the location of Mrs. Astoria Malfoy right now of your own volition. Or, we will make you tell us, resulting in a considerable amount of discomfort for yourself. Know that despite your interference with my objectives, I have no particular desire to inflict unnecessary pain upon you. The choice is yours. Which option do you prefer? You have the next ten seconds to decide.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The room is silent for a moment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ten, nine, eight...</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thinking of Astoria, alone and scared, she hears herself take a wheezing breath through her mouth and she shuts her eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Five, four, three...</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Violet snickers from nearby and she shudders.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She exhales slowly, bracing herself for impact.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Very well then,” Sebek-ari continues curtly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They both begin to move forward.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Violet is closer. One step, two steps, a third-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She clenches her fist and readies herself to lunge in Violet’s direction-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Incarcerous,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Violet calls out lazily before she can get anywhere near enough for an attack.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione cries out as thin cords erupt from Violet’s wand and wrap themselves tightly around her wrists and ankles and she falls heavily to her knees on the cold stone floor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sebek-ari takes another long step forward until he is directly in front of her. He grasps her chin firmly with long, bony fingers and holds her gaze before she can snap her eyes shut. She immediately reinforces her Occlumency defences in place as the man dives violently into her mind. She feels his consciousness assault her own as if he is rearing back and smashing a sledgehammer into the fortress of her mind, and she fairly quakes under the assault.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Occlumency,” he mutters, as if her resistance to his invasion is more of a nuisance than any sort of serious impediment. He breaks their eye contact and she falls forward heavily, gasping for air and nearly vomiting on his expensive looking shoes. Her ears are ringing, her head is </span>
  <em>
    <span>throbbing,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and her vision darkens until he is little more than a shadow in front of her. He nonchalantly wraps a hand tightly in her hair to steady her as he glances sharply at Violet. “You know what to do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She doesn’t miss Violet’s menacing smile as the woman steps forward and shoves a wand in her ribs before she can jerk away, muttering, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Crucio!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Everything turns red in front of her eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before she can even process the need to scream at the immediate waves of agony ripping through her body, Sebek-ari wrenches her head up, nearly tearing her hair out at the roots, and shoves himself into her mind again, this time with the violent force of a wrecking ball to her already fragile defenses, and she feels her body twitching uncontrollably as her mind seems to collapse upon itself. She weakly tries to fight him off to no avail, as she feels him tearing into her, flitting aggressively through her most private thoughts.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>‘The Ministry is looking for someone to infiltrate a group of cultists. They identified you as a potential candidate for the job,’</span>
  </em>
  <span> he watches her tell a severely hungover and naked Draco in Paris so very long ago. She feels his anger steadily rising as he takes in the scene.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He yanks her around in her own mind and watches Draco sink himself into her for the first time on the mat in their little country safehouse outside of Tours, and she vaguely feels tears leaking out of her eyes. She remembers not being sure what it meant, thinking that she could have been anyone, but his eyes were intense and stormy and absolutely adoring, and she is not sure how she could have missed it at the time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>‘You’re to infiltrate your way into the group through the Greengrass family,’</span>
  </em>
  <span> and she senses his horror at the depth of Astoria’s betrayal shoot higher and higher.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He skims through more memories in an icy cold fury.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her mind floats along with him as her wrists feel wet with blood from the bindings cutting into her skin, her body spasming violently. Her jaw clenches on its own accord and she tastes more of it, warm and chokingly thick in her mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He slices into her visit with Draco at the hospital, her leaving a kiss on his forehead at her departure, from Room 444 at the White Feather Hospital-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She desperately yanks the memory away from his grasp. Ignoring her absolute terror, he shoves past it, looking for more.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His mind encompasses hers entirely, and it feels as though he is carving away inside her skull with a sharp knife.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She distantly notes the sounds of piercing screams reverberating throughout the room. It sounds as though someone is in quite a lot of pain-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suddenly he is in her hotel room with her. They see Astoria’s sad grimace of a smile, a single tear slowly streaming down her face as they turn to leave the girl sitting there all alone in Suite 8A in the Hotel Shenei, and-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He withdraws from her mind so quickly that she collapses heavily to the ground in his wake with hardly more than a whimper. Her tongue feels bruised and swollen in her mouth and her jaw snaps shut so tightly that she thinks her teeth may have all cracked, withering away to nothingness. Her bindings are still in place, and her head feels like it is caving in on itself. As her muscles twitch and ache, she feels blood and spittle running down her face but she can’t move her bound, trembling hands to wipe it off-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Suite 8A, Hotel Shenei. Get the girl and bring her directly to me,” she hears Sebek-ari say somewhere in the distance. His voice echoes across the room, bouncing all about before eventually reaching her brain and being processed into something comprehensible. “Then the Malfoy boy. Room 444 at White Feather. Bring him in alive, do you understand?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>No no no no-</em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Agony laces through her body as she heaves and retches nothing but air. It feels as though her rib cage has entirely cracked and shattered. Her lungs spasm desperately as she struggles to take in a breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her eyes wrench open after some indescribable amount of time and it appears Sebek-ari has left the cell. She feels a weight pressing down on her and slowly realizes that she couldn’t move to stand even if she wanted to. Violet is straddling her waist heavily, a cruel smile lighting her face as she reaches down with one hand to cup Hermione’s cheek. The touch of her hand feels cool, almost comforting on her sweaty skin as her body trembles. Her vision is fading, but she can see Violet is brandishing a knife in her other hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She has to - </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> something, she has to fight, she has to do something more than just lay there weakly until Violet guts her before going off to murder Draco - but - her muscles twitch violently and she hears herself emit a quiet, thoroughly helpless moan.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Violet leans in close, tilting her face upwards to make eye contact, breath hot near Hermione’s ear as she speaks. Hermione stills as she feels the tip of the knife pressing lightly against her stomach. “You did so well, Hermione. I am continually impressed with you. It’s been such fun chatting, I must say. Don’t go anywhere, yeah? I’d dearly love another conversation like this when I get back, just you and me. We have so much to talk about. I do want to leave you a parting gift, though, to make sure you don’t forget about me. Don’t worry, dear - this won’t be the thing that kills you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With that, Violet presses a confusing, gentle kiss atop Hermione’s nose before swinging her arm forwards and plunging the knife into the left side of her stomach, just below her ribcage.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She gasps in noiseless misery at the slicing sensation, vocal cords too raw to scream any longer, and the wound is a new type of agonizing pain on top of every other variation she is already suffering through.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A broken whimper escapes her lips as Violet lets out another blood-curdling laugh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When she blinks she is alone in the cell again. Her vision is fading, her bleeding body is twitching helplessly on the cold floor soaking in a puddle of her own blood, and the last thing on her exhausted, used-up mind before her eyes weakly flutter shut once more is the sleeping, ailing occupant of Room 444, White Feather Hospital.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Draco 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Draco’s eyes snap open, and he immediately regrets his body’s involuntary reaction as the searingly bright light assaults his vision. His eyes feel dry and aching, and there is a foul, sour taste in his mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He raises a shaky hand to his forehead as a quiet groan escapes his lips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He is in a hospital bed? And Hermione, she-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She had been there, hadn’t she?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She loves him, she had said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hadn’t she? Or had that been a dream?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>‘I love you, you idiot. I love you, Draco. I love you.’</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It - sort of sounds like how he had always imagined she might say it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If she ever said it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And - if she had said it, did he say it back?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He - might have.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hadn’t he? Or had that been a dream?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His head throbs painfully.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He blinks heavily, and when he glances around the room, a stern looking Roger Davies is standing next to him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where are they?” Davies asks him, frowning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco blinks again and coughs tiredly, leaning into the shockingly comfortable pillows situated behind him. He notices his wand on the nightstand beside his bed and lets out a shaky sigh of relief at the comfort of having it so close to him. “Your bedside manner could use some improvement, Davies,” he grumbles in a husky voice as he glances around for something to drink before noticing a glass of water near his wand. “Where is who?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hermione,” the man snaps in response. “And </span>
  <em>
    <span>your wife.</span>
  </em>
  <span> They were here with you, and they’re both gone.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He frowns at that, wondering where his wife and his - his something, maybe - might have possibly gone together, and why.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He suddenly remembers Astoria’s sad eyes watching him collapse to the ground, and oh Merlin, she had </span>
  <em>
    <span>poisoned</span>
  </em>
  <span> him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hadn’t she?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How the hell should I know? I just woke up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s All Hallow’s Eve tonight,” Davies continues grumpily, running a hand through his hair frustratedly. “The ritual, we think-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sits up and the world swims in front of his eyes for a moment. He holds back a sudden urge to vomit as he collapses weakly back onto the bed with a grunt. “The Necropolis. That’s where they’re going. I told Granger, I think.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck,” mutters Davies. “I told her to stay away. This is ICW business now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“ICW business!” he repeats, jaw dropping as the world continues to spin around him. He squints at Davies and tries to make the room stay put for a moment. “Come off it, Davies, you know she’ll be rushing over there to play the damned hero if she can. If she - if they’re in trouble, you had better call in the aurors.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Davies rolls his eyes and scoffs. “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It’s illegal. The ICW coordinates these sorts of international cooperation activities.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He groans at that and shifts in his bed, attempting to sit up again and shake the cobwebs out of his mind. “Fucking hell. Look - how much time is left before sundown? Is it still morning?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hardly.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright - she probably isn’t going to just rush the Necropolis head-on, is she? She’s not stupid. She probably went somewhere to lay low for a bit so she wouldn’t have to listen to you prattle on about your precious ICW. More worried about your career than your colleague, eh Davies?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course I’m worried about her, but it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>the law,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Malfoy. These are international wizarding regulations. Didn’t she teach you about that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She did, and you can shove the law, you lazy bastard. Where would she have gone?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Davies scowls, but his eyes narrow thoughtfully. “She has a room at the Hotel Shenei, so maybe there. Else, Devlin is staying at the Sleepy Shoe Inn. Wouldn’t surprise me if she went to see that wanker.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He instantly feels a wave of hatred for this familiar-sounding Devlin character who she might have turned to and clenches his fists, forcing himself to sit up on the bed. “Alright. She’ll need help, won’t she? What room is she in at the Hotel Shenei?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Davies blinks at him dubiously as he struggles to his feet. “Are you insane? You can hardly even sit up. For Merlin’s sake, Malfoy - look, I’ll go find her. You stay here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now </span>
  <em>
    <span>you’re</span>
  </em>
  <span> insane,” he snaps, legs shaking slightly under his own weight. “Of course I’m going, because you might need backup and you’re clearly too craven to call in the aurors. Besides - if we find Astoria, she’s hardly likely to trust </span>
  <em>
    <span>you.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Davies half-snarls at him before spinning and walking out the door. “Fine,” he snaps over his shoulder. “Hurry up. We’ll find Hermione, stop her from storming the damned Necropolis by herself, and come back here to regroup. This is absurd, you know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He can just imagine her, hair wild, wand drawn, fists clenched, and charging into battle with Sebek-ari and Gideon Greengrass and Violet Evilian and Daphne-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know,” he mumbles, hobbling after Davies as quickly as he can manage. His heart is racing as they rush down the hall to the apparition point and he struggles to catch his breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The violent tug of apparating seems to crush his battered body and he feels as though his ribcage might burst and his lungs might collapse upon themselves and he nearly vomits upon landing in the Hotel Shenei lobby, falling to his knees and coughing violently. A few little specks of vibrantly red blood escape his throat, landing on the tile in front of him, and he stares at them oddly for a moment. Davies glances at him either disdainfully or somewhat concernedly before helping him to his feet and leading him up a set of stairs, ignoring the curious looks of passersby.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This way, Suite 8A,” Davies grumbles.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>How do you know?</span>
  </em>
  <span> he wants to ask as he stumbles along, knowing that the answer is surely because Davies is the supervisor of this assignment and </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> because Davies has somehow squirmed his way into her bed, and that he himself is probably being an exhausted, jealous git.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After all, she </span>
  <em>
    <span>loves</span>
  </em>
  <span> him. Doesn’t she?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Could that really be a true thing? Surely not - she hates him. She always has, and she always will, he is positive of that fact. But then he remembers her vivid expression after their ill-fated kiss at the Equinox party, and he thinks that - maybe it could be true. Maybe.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As they approach the suite, him on extremely instead legs, Davies takes out his wand and mutters a few quick ward-detecting spells. He frowns deeply as the magic bounces off the door. “She added more wards. So fucking paranoid. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Damn it.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> He reaches up and tries to knock, but the sound is oddly muted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco frowns, stepping towards the door. A wave of magic flows over him and he breathes in deeply.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Son of a bitch,” Davies mumbles with a glare. “Stay back, Malfoy, I need to take down these fucking spells-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Language, Davies. And - wait. I think I can go in,” he interrupts, heart fluttering in his chest at what he instinctively knows to be true. She had set the protective spells in place, and she had created them such that he would still be allowed to enter if he wished.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s a little thing, but he smiles as he gazes at the door, reaching for the handle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She loves him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You - what?” Davies frowns at him mutinously, but steps aside to give him room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He turns the doorknob and pushes the door open, entering the room and dragging Davies in with him. It appears disturbingly meticulous, of course, and he briefly recalls the fairly insane intensity with which she organized her books back in France. Glancing around the room quickly with his wand drawn, he looks for her. He can’t see her anywhere, but instead he finds-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Draco?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-Astoria, sitting on the couch with wide, scared eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He blinks at her, tightening his grasp on his wand, but her jaw is trembling and he is struck by how fragile she looks. He remembers her smiling so sweetly at him on their wedding day, and for a moment he can almost empathize with her after finding out the person you love doesn’t love you back-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>‘I love you, you idiot,’</span>
  </em>
  <span> Hermione had said-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria takes a tentative step forward before rushing to him and wrapping her arms tightly around his waist. She presses her face into his chest and lets out a heavy sob.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A part of him, the one that has been chafing at how monstrously he has treated her, wants to wrap his arms around her and tell her everything will be okay. But - she </span>
  <em>
    <span>poisoned</span>
  </em>
  <span> him!</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Draco,” she sobs against his chest sounding so profoundly sad that he brings one hand to rest upon her shoulder. “Oh, gods Draco, I’m so sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Davies stalks about the room scowling, clearly distraught at not seeing Hermione anywhere. “Where is she?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria quivers in his arms.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>‘I can’t find the words to explain how much I love you,’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>he had lied to Astoria on their honeymoon, feeling like a treacherous, unredeemable monster.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Well, we have the rest of our lives to find them,’</span>
  </em>
  <span> she had smiled back sweetly, and his stomach had twisted itself into guilty knots while his thoughts dwelled on another woman.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wonders if Hermione has already left for the ritual site or if she went somewhere else, and that Devlin fellow lingers in the back of his mind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Astoria,” he says quietly, stepping back from her slightly in order to make eye contact. His legs still feel somewhat shaky. Her eyes are huge and watery and sad. “Listen - Hermione was with you, wasn’t she?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her eyes wrench away from his in order to study the ground. “Yes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you know where she went?” he asks gently.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...she loves you, you know,” Astoria sniffs softly, and his dastardly heart soars. “Daphne was right all along, I suppose.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He is sure he owes her far more than an apology, but the thought of Hermione in potential danger is at the forefront of his thoughts.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Distantly, he notes the sound of footsteps down the hallway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hesitantly, he reaches out with a tired, shaking hand to cup her chin, gently raising her face to look into her eyes once more. “Astoria...I don’t know how to apologize to you. I’m not even sure where to begin. I intend to find out, but first I need to know where she is. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Please,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Astoria. Where is she?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria’s jaw trembles in his grasp and she looks at him with wide, devastated eyes. She opens her mouth to respond.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Malfoy,” snaps Davies from near the door with a frown on his face. “I think someone’s coming-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At that moment, a burst of red jets smashes against the door near Davies’s face, and several things happen at once in a flurried rush of activity.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The door explodes into thousands of tiny splinters.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco shoves Astoria down behind the nearby couch while diving behind the armchair himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Davies yelps, bringing a hand to his face as blood seeps out of a cut on his face and he stumbles about in search of cover on the other side of the room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Glancing up, he sees four, maybe five people storm into the room, including one terrifyingly familiar face, and he tosses a quick stunner which is easily blocked before ducking back behind the armchair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Was that you, Draco?” Violet Evilian calls laughingly. “How </span>
  <em>
    <span>perfect.</span>
  </em>
  <span> I was planning on visiting you at the hospital after this - I suppose I should thank you for sparing me the trip.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hears footsteps from nearby and readies his wand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Astoria, dear?” Violet continues. “Why don’t you come out - your sister dearly longs to see you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He glances quickly at Astoria, who is cradling her knees to her chest and shaking with fear.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Stupefy!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> he gasps as a figure emerges from the shadows, and he hears a heavy thump as the body hits the floor. It wasn’t Violet, but that makes one less. They are still outnumbered, and he has no idea how badly Davies was injured.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He can apparate. He is keyed to the wards, so he can apparate. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He needs to get out of there, he needs to find Hermione, but-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He starts to tentatively crawl towards her, but the splash of a curse impacts directly in front of him and he snaps back into place behind the chair, sucking in a deep breath and attempting to still his beating heart.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He can’t leave her here with them, not when she is looking so scared. His marriage vows may have been worthless, but he swore to protect her, and he absolutely intends to do at least that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Besides, she can lead him to Hermione-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I just had a most charming visit with your girlfriend, Draco,” Violet giggles from somewhere in the distance, and his heart clenches in his chest. “She misses you, I think. Wouldn’t you like to go see her?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He takes a shuddering breath at the thought of Hermione somehow being at Violet’s mercy. She - could be lying. She could be trying to distract him. He needs to get to Astoria and apparate the hell out of there.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Stupefy!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> he hears Davies shout from across the room, followed by a strangled cry and a heavy thud. Another one down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They - might make it -</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hears the crack of magic through the air, and Davies lets out a howl of pain before going quiet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The room smells like smoke and burnt magic and is deafeningly quiet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looks at Astoria, pale and shaking, and he tries to tell her with his eyes that he is only meters away, and he’ll come to her and take them away-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Draco,” Violet nearly sings his name gleefully through the smoke in the air. “Hermione told us how to get here, you know. It took a little bit of...</span>
  <em>
    <span>persuasion,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but she came around quite quickly. She has a lovely scream, your little Mudblood whore.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His exhausted heart slams against his chest and he wants to curse the fucking psychopath, but he knows that the second he lifts his head up again she’ll blow it right off his neck. Still, the longer he waits to make a move, the more likely it is that she and her flunkies will surround him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He readies himself to move and tries not to think about Hermione, alone and trapped somewhere unknown, having suffered from Violet’s horrifying affections.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria looks over at him shakily and nods her head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Protego!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> he growls as he dives out from behind the chair and crawls towards Astoria. She casts a shaky protective spell around him at the same time. Several curses hit and dissolve into his shield, and he can feel it weaken as he scurries across the floor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he reaches Astoria, a sharp pain slices its way through his lower body, and he squeezes his eyes shut, blindly reaching for her. She grabs his hands, and the moment he feels her touch he apparates them to the first place that comes to mind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They land with a crash on a bench near the Cairo bazaar, and he gasps desperately for breath as he rolls away from his wife. He drops his head between his legs and retches violently.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He coughs up a bit of blood onto the same bench where he and Hermione would meet, and she would observe him from behind cold eyes, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>she loves him</span>
  </em>
  <span> now, doesn’t she?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria looks at him worriedly. “Draco - you’re bleeding! Here, let me heal you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He grunts, glancing down at the bloody cut on the lower part of his left calf. They must’ve nicked him just as his shield was fading, but it’s not too worrisome. The after-effects from the sudden apparating hurt much more severely. Astoria takes out her wand, quickly casting a few spells, and the thrumming of magical energy calms him somewhat. “They - they might trace us. We have to get out of here. Astoria, please, where is she?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria stays focused on healing him, but her wand trembles somewhat. “I don’t know. She - well, she said she had to look into something and that she would be back quickly. She never came back, Draco. I don’t know where she went, but if Violet has her-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She could’ve been lying,” he offers, knowing it sounds weak.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Draco-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Davies might’ve gotten away,” he continues, fully aware of how unrealistic it sounds. “He might’ve gotten away and will call in the aurors. I - fuck, okay, I have to go to the Necropolis. They can’t bring back the Dark Lord, Astoria, I won’t let them, and-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And I have to find her, I have to find her, I have to-</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Violet was looking for me, Draco,” Astoria responds quietly, voice wavering somewhat as she withdraws from his leg. A long wound remains and it stings severely, but it has stopped bleeding at least. “She must have come from the Necropolis, and that’s probably where Hermione is...I should go to the Necropolis first.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He blinks at her. “You absolutely should not.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I should, and I will,” she raises her chin defiantly. “You don’t really get to tell me what to do, Draco.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s true enough, but he frowns at her anyway. “It’ll be dangerous. You - we should go to the aurors.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you really think the aurors would believe what either of us has to say?” she asks softly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stares at her heavily.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Daphne will protect me,” she insists. “I’ll be fine, and you can follow me, right? I can distract Sebek-ari and Daphne, and you can find Hermione. Do you even know where the Necropolis is?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He scowls, knowing and hating that she is right.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She reaches into her shirt and pulls out her necklace - the one her mother gave her that she treasures dearly. A fact she had told him because she had trusted him, once.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Here,” she says, holding the necklace out. “Cast a tracking spell on the ankh charm. Quickly, Draco.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He does, and he looks into her eyes for an intense moment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shakily reaches a hand up to brush against his cheek, and shuts her eyes, breathing slowly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He lifts his own hand to hers and holds her there against him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Astoria...be careful. Promise me. Okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She opens her eyes again and smiles sadly. “Wait a little while before you follow me. It can be a little tricky apparating near the Necropolis - you might not end up exactly where you expect.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Astoria-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll try to disrupt the ritual myself, if I can. You - Hermione is there somewhere. You should look for her first before coming after me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Astoria-”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Daph won’t let anyone hurt me. I’ll be fine, Draco.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stares at her as she drops her hand from his cheek.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I-” she starts awkwardly, blushing somewhat. “I know you never loved me, Draco, not really. But that’s okay. I love </span>
  <em>
    <span>you,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and I’m going to help you as best I can. That’s - something, isn’t it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She leans in and gently presses her lips to his.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shuts his eyes, not kissing her back but not pushing her away, letting the overwhelming guilt wash over him even as he cannot stop his thoughts from dwelling on Hermione.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She could be in trouble.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His heart shudders with a deep, dreadful ache.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After a moment, Astoria steps away from him, eyes wide and mournful. She opens her mouth as if to say something else before changing her mind, and with another slow, deep inhale, she offers him the smallest smile before she disappears with a resounding crack.</span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Hermione 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Wake up.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>But - I’m so tired.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Hermione, wake up.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Ron?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Hermione.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Let me sleep.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Hermione!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Please go away.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hermione!!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She groans pitifully, body aching and sore, an awful pounding in her head and what feels like a pair of hands on her shoulders as she reluctantly drags herself back into dreaded consciousness.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, thank Merlin - Hermione, can you hear me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her eyes flutter open and oh seven hells, her entire body aches searingly and for a moment she wishes she was still unconscious. But then suddenly, she thinks she remembers-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ron...?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What-?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She needs to - do something. She needs to-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her head aches. Her skull feels cracked and the world in front of her is blurred, but she thinks she sees-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...Danny Kershaw? Is that you?” she mumbles, reaching up to brush her fingers against the amusing, quidditch-player-loving alchemist’s cheek. Her muscles twitch and there is a throbbing behind her eyes. She faintly recalls Violet cursing her before Sebek-ari took it upon himself to tear apart her mind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He - found out where Draco is, didn’t he? Yes, he did. Room 444 at the White Feather Hospital. They know. Astoria too. They </span>
  <em>
    <span>know.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, Hermione, it’s me,” Danny breathes heavily. She can sort of see his face in the darkness of the cell, and he looks horrified. “What- Hermione, what the hell? What are you doing here, what - what happened? I heard screaming and came down here - what the fuck is going on,” his voice trails off in a worried rush.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How long...?” Her throat feels scratchy and tired, and she shudderingly remembers wearing it out from screaming. Her muscles seem to twitch on their own accord, and her shirt feels wet and sticky.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looks around worriedly, running a nervous hand through his hair. “How long have you been out? I don’t know - I heard the noises maybe half an hour ago? Look, I was too nervous to come down right away, alright? I thought it might’ve been a - a wraith, or a monster, or something. It’s All Hallows Eve and we’re in a Necropolis for Merlin’s sake. Have you seen all the weird statues? They’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>warm.</span>
  </em>
  <span> This place is awful. But - what happened here, please tell me what’s going on, will you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She coughs once and it tastes like cold, coppery blood, thick and heavy in her throat. “Sebek-ari...Violet...they did this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Danny shakily takes out his wand, glancing around nervously before touching it to her nose. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Episkey,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> he murmurs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She gasps in pain as she feels the small, shattered bits of bone and cartilage in her nose harshly rearrange themselves into place. She takes a deep, shaky breath through the semi-repaired structure. She smells blood and death in the stale air and it makes her stomach churn in disgust.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why did- what the hell is going on?” Danny asks again, eyes wide with terror even as he continues to flick his wand in the air and clean up her face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Feeling overwhelmingly woozy, her eyes flutter shut for just a moment-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, no no no, stay with me Hermione, please. Stay awake, will you? I need your help, what else - oh fuck, did someone </span>
  <em>
    <span>stab </span>
  </em>
  <span>you? </span>
  <em>
    <span>What the hell-</span>
  </em>
  <span> I don’t know how to fix this, I’m not a bloody healer - Hermione please stay awake, please. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Episkey!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She nearly cries out as she feels the knife wound at her side attempt to stitch itself together, as if the skin on either side of the wound is reaching across the chasm and the world dances in front of her, and if not for Danny’s desperate cries for help she thinks she might pass out again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tears sting at her eyes, but she has to - </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> something.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco could be in trouble. Astoria too. They could be in trouble, and she needs to </span>
  <em>
    <span>do something.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Danny...</span>
  <em>
    <span>shit.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Help me up, I can’t-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The knife wound burns, and she wonders faintly if Violet’s blade had been poisoned or if this is just what getting gutted generally feels like.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Here, I got you,” he says, tossing her arm over his shoulder and helping her up off the ground. Her legs shudder weakly as she attempts to stand. She almost wants to laugh, feeling a little badly for Danny as she remembers the struggle of lugging a semi-conscious Draco around only the day before. “Just tell me what’s going on, yeah? I - this was just supposed to be an alchemy experiment, nobody is supposed to be getting bloody stabbed to death! I </span>
  <em>
    <span>told</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ackerly that Sebek-ari and Gideon Greengrass were shady, I did, I swear it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her brain feels as though it is preparing to make a desperate attempt to escape from her skull, and she leans heavily against Danny for a moment as he helps her out of the cell. “Danny, wait - where’s - did you see Violet? I don’t have a wand. I - I need a wand. If we run into her up there she’ll kill us.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Kill us!” he gapes at her. “Hermione - kill us? You’re not serious, are you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am</span>
  </em>
  <span> serious,” she snaps scratchily, keeping her strained, aching voice low for fear of what could be awaiting them at the top of the stairs. “I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking</span>
  </em>
  <span> serious, Danny. These are not good people. I didn’t slip and fall onto a knife, for Merlin’s sake. Besides, what did you think they wanted to do with all that orichalcum powder?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How do you even know about that-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They’re going to summon an ifrit and use it to raise the dead. Sebek-ari is a </span>
  <em>
    <span>Death Eater,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Danny. They’re planning to resurrect Lord Voldemort tonight.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Danny jerks back and looks at her, stunned. “No, no, no - they can’t be. They’re - this was all for research! It wasn’t - Viridian and I, we’re writing a paper on the alchemical transmutation of the powder in conjunction with - oh for Merline’s sake, we’re planning on publishing the results, it’s all very proper. Sebek-ari and Mr. Greengrass, they’re just funding our research. Lord V- You-Know-Who, really! I can’t believe it, Hermione, I can’t, this is ridiculous. There must be a misunderstanding, honestly.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Compared to Devlin’s similar confession, she finds Danny’s infinitely more believable as he helps her along. Danny had sprung her from her cell, after all, while Devlin had been responsible for getting her locked up in the first place.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She pushes herself away from him and braces against the wall, holding herself steadily as she gazes up the staircase in front of her. She doesn’t see any movement or shadows and cautiously starts to move, one step at a time. “It’s true, Danny,” she whispers. Her muscles </span>
  <em>
    <span>ache,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but she takes another step forward. She holds out her trembling hand for him to see. “Look - they used the Cruciatus Curse on me, see? It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>unforgivable,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and they used it because they don’t care about what happens to anyone else here tonight.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The Cruciatus Curse,” he mumbles, eyes wide in disbelief. “What the hell...Hermione, what do we do? There are probably more than a dozen guards up there! I’m not a duelist, but we’ve got to get out of here, don’t we?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She grimaces as a spasm rocks her body, muscles involuntarily clenching and unclenching painfully, and she grasps at the rock wall as tightly as she can and desperately tries to breathe until it passes. When it’s over, she lets out a sharp exhale and turns to Danny, who is watching her uneasily. “I’m not letting them resurrect him, Danny. I’m going to stop this ritual somehow. Thank you for helping me out just now, really, but if you can’t handle this then you should tell me how to stop it and get out of here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His eyes dart around nervously but he nods. “Right. Listen, as long as the ritual hasn’t started yet, all you’ll need to do is-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suddenly she hears the faint echo of footsteps up ahead, so she holds up a hand sharply to shut Danny up. They are still in the darkness of the stairwell approaching the top, and she can see an approaching shadow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It sounds like only one person.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She glances at Danny again, who seems frozen with fear. She almost wants to wrench his wand away from him, thinking that even struggling through unpredictable muscle twitches she might be able to put it to better use in a fight, but the footsteps are getting closer, and closer, and closer-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She ignores the pounding in her head and tenses, taking an unsteady deep breath. She listens. She waits. Her muscles tremble. One more step, and with a strangled cry she charges forward.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The unsuspecting guard turns to blink at her in surprise, not even having enough time to raise his wand before she crashes into him and tackles him to the ground. In less than a blink, she has his neck in the crook of her elbow, applying heavy force with her other arm to the pressure point in his neck. Her heart slams violently in her chest as the man immediately starts to struggle, bucking upwards against her. She leans her head forward to increase the pressure as he squirms and his hands scrabble for purchase against her forearm. After another moment of her wrenching his neck tighter, he jerks in her grasp before passing out, wand clattering to the ground beside him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She almost smiles, remembering a happier memory of training an idiot blond on how to use the same blood-choking maneuver once (“dark sexy magic” he had called it with a stupid grin while rubbing his neck) before catching her breath and taking the discarded wand. Everything aches fiercely and her body feels like a bundle of nerves lit on fire and slowly burning to ashes as she unsteadily gets back to her feet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Whoa,” whispers Danny in awe from behind her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on,” she says, wavering somewhat but gesturing them forward. Having a wand brings a small sense of comfort, but it is trembling unsteadily in her shaking hands. “I need you to show me where the ritual will take place and tell me how to stop it. Then you should get out of here, okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hermione - your wound, you’re bleeding again...”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She spares a glance at the knife-wound courtesy of Violet and blinks at it sluggishly, thinking that she certainly won’t be able to keep moving for long considering the amount of blood she has been losing. Even after Danny had attempted to clean away some of the blood, her shirt is damp and sticky with the stuff as it seeps down the left side of her body. Rapidly sorting through the catalogue of healing spells she knows, she discards most of the properly effective spells - they might knock her out, or take too much time. It’ll have to be something stronger than the bandaid Danny had cast, but not so strong as to immobilize her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her vision doubles for a moment before everything fades into a giant blur. She quickly decides on using a moderately powerful healing spell. Ideally she would be in a hospital setting with plenty of time to recover, but anything less potent might not seal the wound properly, and she cannot afford to lose any more blood.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Revive me if I pass out,” she tells Danny with a grimace, very much dreading the imminent agony awaiting her. He nods anxiously, eyes darting around in a clear panic.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She braces herself and murmurs a quick spell with her newly acquired wand. She cringes as she feels the wound stitch even further together, falling down to one knee and gritting her teeth through the pain as her flesh twists about, rearranging itself in an attempt to stall the bleeding. She squeezes her eyes shut and hisses weakly through her clenched teeth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh Merlin, Morgana, Mordred, oh fuck,” Danny mumbles, looking quite pale.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s fine enough for now,” she gasps with a cough. Everything - hurts. Everything. But she has to keep moving, she has to. “Let’s go.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Danny looks tortured but he nods shakily. “Fuck...The ritual site is just ahead. Come on - this way. Here, let me help you, yeah? Merlin you’re hardcore, Hermione. I’ll buy your drinks for the rest of your life if we survive this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I - don’t really drink that much,” she mumbles weakly, laughing inside at the little joke at her own expense. Draco might think it was darkly amusing. She decides she’ll tell him about it later, if they somehow both manage to survive the night.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Danny helps her up yet again, and she is loath to let him help her walk, but with the way her body keeps giving out on her, it’s the only option for now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She- </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She might’ve had her satchel with her, at Devlin’s, didn’t she? It had some potions in it, and-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She thinks she might vomit as the world wavers again in front of her eyes and fades to black for a moment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She feels Danny nearly dragging her along the stone path as her vision blurs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shit,” she hears him mumble after a moment. “I hear voices ahead. Come on, we’ll hide in this hallway until they pass, alright? Hopefully the shadows will hide us well enough. Look, right here behind these gods damned statues. Hang in there Hermione, yeah?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” she agrees, voice sounding thin and tired to her ears. He leans her gently against a nearby statue and huddles next to her against the wall.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She nearly collapses against the oddly warm gargoyle statue as they try not to make a sound, listening for any hints as to what is in store for them along the way.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her hands tremble uncontrollably at her side.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The strange, warm statue has a lion head, and it almost seems to be watching her with a devious grin. She stares back at it warily. An uncomfortable aura seems to emanate from the thing - it seems to pulse with some sort of energy. It feels </span>
  <em>
    <span>angry.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She blinks heavily and tries to focus.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Evilian’s already back, and so is the girl,” one of the guards is saying.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The girl.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria? Oh gods, if they have Astoria-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The statue seems to grin wider.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh great,” sighs the second guard. “Maybe we can stay away, eh? I know you think that assassin’s cute, but she’s fucking crazy, man.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The first guard laughs, sounding quite young. “That’s the truth, mate. Maybe, ah, we can go patrol the upper level, yeah? That lot, they’re all horny for their little experiment. I say we stay the hell away from all of them tonight.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The footsteps wander further away, and she hears Danny breathe a sigh of relief.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She grasps his arm, somewhat desperate to get away from the disquieting gargoyle, and pushes herself off the wall with a grimace of pain. Unsettlingly, the statue seems to turn its head and watch them with malevolent stone eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As they start to stumble forward again, she wonders if they really do have Astoria. They knew where to find her because they pried it from Hermione’s own mind, and she wonders if they went to the hospital to find Draco as well.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh, Draco.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She thinks he would be righteously furious at her for getting herself tortured and stabbed, particularly due to the betrayal of an ex-lover. She imagines him saying something along the lines of, </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘I’m</span>
  </em>
  <span> the only one allowed to hurt you and betray you, Granger! Besides, I’m far better looking than that Devlin git,’ before storming off on a quest for vengeance, and she chuckles somewhat at the thought.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It hurts her ribs to laugh, and it rapidly turns into a heavy cough. She tastes more blood in the back of her throat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Breathe, just breathe. Slowly, okay? Shit. We’re almost there, Hermione. Look, we can see it from here. See the heptagram there? It’s the summoning foci, the ifrit would hypothetically emerge from the centre. You’ll need to disrupt it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They have arrived at a ruined wall looking down on a circular grassy field, an oasis in the desert. It reminds her a bit of a colosseum, or a quidditch stadium. She looks down at it as her vision slowly sharpens, and she sees it - a large heptagram on the ground made of orichalcum powder, primed and ready for a summoning ritual. She sort of sees a few shadowy figures, shaking her head to try and further clear her vision to no avail.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Danny, I can’t - my eyesight isn’t working properly. I can’t quite see that far, can you make out who’s down there?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Er - yeah, it looks like Daphne and Tori. I don’t see Violet or - wait, there’s Sebek-ari and Gideon Greengrass, I think, walking up to them. They look pretty pissed off. She - shit, Hermione, Daphne looks as though she’s about to light the orichalcum. You know what that means, don’t you? It’s starting soon. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione frowns as Danny continues muttering concernedly. She is worriedly thinking of Astoria being down there, and of the runeknife </span>
  <em>
    <span>(blood, sacrifice, female variant)</span>
  </em>
  <span> when suddenly she feels her arms and the back of her neck break out in gooseflesh. There is magic in the air, old and cackling, and as a heavy gust of wind diffuses through the air, time seems to slow to a crawl.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hears words, a gentle whisper in the wind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Hermione.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>...Ron?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Behind you!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her hand tightens on her borrowed wand, and she senses more so than hears an approaching menace from behind them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Down!” she shouts as she throws up a shield and dives for Danny, shoving him to the ground as a vile, ugly purple curse explodes from a wand towards them before smashing ineffectively against the wall.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione’s borrowed wand clatters to the ground as she shoves Danny aside and glances around wildly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Violet Evilian grins at them, blond hair flowing in the violence of the winds, and she raises her wand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione’s eyes widen as she looks at the awful woman and sees </span>
  <em>
    <span>her own wand</span>
  </em>
  <span> tucked safely into Violet’s waistband, almost calling out to her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Violet rears back and starts shooting curses rapidly at her, which she gaspingly dodges, ignoring the searing pain reemerging in her side. Red and purple and blue streams clash against the wall behind her, and she hears Danny desperately toss a shielding charm in front of her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is this one another boyfriend of yours, Hermione?” Violet laughs, tossing a casual curse at Danny for good measure. “The alchemist, the professor, the auror, your dearest Draco - I’ve seen them all today, you know. Any others skulking around that I should know about?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She dodges desperately out of the way of another curse. The knife wound in her side feels like it’s tearing her apart.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The auror. Roger?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco. Violet has seen Draco?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She - </span>
  <em>
    <span>could </span>
  </em>
  <span>be lying, but Sebek-ari had pried the hospital room location directly from her own brain, and-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He could be hurt, and-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A violent red spell sizzles on the shield just in front of her face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Get your wand!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She has to get a wand, she has to stop this ritual, and she has to get to Draco.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Get YOUR wand!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Expelliarmus!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> she gasps wandlessly, thinking of Draco being in trouble and reaching out with all the frenzied primal energy she can muster. Violet manages to easily block the spell with regards to her own wand, but Hermione can feel her dear vine wood and dragonstring core calling out to her from Violet’s waistband across the way, nearly dancing out of the mad woman’s possession and finding its way back to its rightful owner.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Violet blinks as she watches the wand’s arc through the air with wide, curious eyes and an almost innocent smile, like a child discovering magic for the first time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The wand - </span>
  <em>
    <span>her wand</span>
  </em>
  <span> - finds its way into her hand and despite the nearly overwhelming pain wracking her body, for a moment it feels like coming home.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Stupefy!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> she gasps with a violent flick of her wand, and the spell knocks Violet right off her feet and sends her flying back into the wall with a loud </span>
  <em>
    <span>crack</span>
  </em>
  <span> as her head smashes into the hard brick.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She holds her wand as steadily as she can as Violet blinks at her for a moment with a disturbing little smile on her face. The woman lets out a slight, amused laugh before her purple eyes roll up to the back of her head and she slides down the wall, unconscious.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She thinks about Ron and she thinks about Draco and she thinks about the blood seeping out of the knife wound in her side and she takes a slow step forward and grips her wand tightly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The sound of her own heartbeat reverberates like thunder through her entire body.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She stares down at the monster and sees Ron’s faceless corpse in her mind and finally, </span>
  <em>
    <span>finally, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she is going to avenge his murder. As she steadies her wand at Violet’s prone, unconscious body, her hand shakes and her skin begins to prickle uncomfortably.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With a sudden heavy exhale, she collapses to one knee and shuts her eyes, attempting to still the erratic beating of her heart.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The wind picks up again, otherworldly and heavy with magic, and as before time seems to slow to a crawl.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, bloody hell, are you serious? Stop that. You don’t want to kill her, Hermione.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Yes, I do. For you. After what she did to you...</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The world is better off without her.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe it is. But you’re not a murderer. You don’t want her blood on your hands.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Ron...</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>If you ever loved me, Hermione, you won’t kill her. Not like this.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I...oh, Ron. What is this? Is this real? Or are you just in my head again?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s All Hallows’ Eve, Hermione. The veil is thin tonight. It’s real enough, isn’t it?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I have so much I want to say to you.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I know.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I - I won’t kill her, Ron.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I know.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You’re the know-it-all now?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I am, and you can stop blaming yourself for everything that happened to me. None of it was your fault, Hermione. Wallowing isn’t a good look for you, besides.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Ron...</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I suppose I should tell you, she didn’t manage to off your little ferret. The twat will come find you before this is over, whether you want him to or not.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He - what?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Yeah, yeah. Go ahead and smile, but you could do much better than him, I just really need you to know that, alright? Now go, Hermione. Hurry and end this. The dead should be allowed to rest.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll always love you. You know that, don’t you?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll always know it.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She squeezes her eyes tightly, and time seems to revert to its usual flow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With a heavy sigh, she quickly casts a spell to tightly bind Violet’s hands and legs from her knee. She can almost feel Ron helping her back to her feet as she spares one last glance at the monstrous woman before turning back to the ritual site.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That - I haven’t seen wandless magic like that before,” Danny breathes, supporting her again as they approach a sort of balcony with a clear view of the field.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, well,” she starts to shrug and project an air of confidence she doesn’t feel, but her eyes widen at the sight of the flaming heptagram, burning an unnaturally bright red.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh Merlin, oh fucking hell,” Danny murmurs as they look on. “Look, if we want to stop it, we have to do it quickly. If they manage to summon the ifrit, we’d have to stop it right, before it can summon You-Know-Who. The ifrit - it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>powerful, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Hermione, even if it’s restricted to the summoning heptagram. It will stay in its own realm and won’t be able to do much more than a single resurrection, but I - I don’t- oh gods, would we have to fight You-Know-Who?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She feels blood seeping out of her knife wound again and winces, pressing a hand firmly to her side and taking a deep breath. Her hand is wet and slippery with her own blood, but she is sure that another attempt at a serious healing spell would render her unconscious. “Danny, I’ve got this, alright? Thank you. You’ve saved my life already tonight, haven’t you? Get out of here. Contact Amir Nazari with the Egyptian aurors. Tell him what’s happening and that I’m in danger here, and convince him to send a strike team if you can, alright? And - ah, tell him Draco Malfoy might be running around and he’s on our side, so they shouldn’t hex him too badly if they can help it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Draco Malfoy,” he repeats, voice shaky but with a slight smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shrugs her shoulders tiredly and nods, agreeing to a little more than just the man’s name.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Danny looks at her intensely, eyes wide and scared. “You’ll - you’re sure you’ll be alright? I can’t leave you alone here like this. Besides - Violet, she called Draco Malfoy your boyfriend, didn’t she? I’ll stay with you until the end if you promise to tell me </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>story.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She offers him a slight smile, thinking about Maybe-Ron’s words. She can almost feel Draco’s presence, and it fills her with a sense of calm. “I’m not alone, Danny. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Go.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She presses a quick kiss to his cheek before turning her eyes back to the heptagram, heart lightening as she hears the distinctive pop of his departure.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She observes the field and takes a deep, shuddering breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The heptagram is afire, bright flames flickering upwards into the night sky.</span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>AKA Hermione doesn't have time to sit around and be a damsel in distress, she's busy! Lots of love to you, thanks for reading. I expect updates to continue to be quick through the end.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. Draco 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“...Fuck,” Draco mumbles to himself, glancing around the Necropolis ruins.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After waiting nearly half an hour in a full blown panic, he activated the tracking spell and made an almost-impressive attempt at blindly apparating to the vicinity of her location, not wanting to get too close and alerting the other Protectorate assholes too early.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria had been correct, however, in predicting that apparition would get a little wonky near the ruins. He ended up - at the Necropolis, certainly, but nowhere near Astoria, and somewhere much higher up than seemed reasonable. He is standing on some sort of spire, high up enough to have a complete view of the ancient City of the Dead, but nowhere near low enough to have a proper view of - anything. The ritual could be happening directly below him, and he would be none the wiser.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His body is shaking from the strain of apparating, and he tastes bile, thick and sour in the back of his throat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not in any condition to risk another apparition, he manages a combination of awkward climbing and cushioning charms to make his way down to an actual floor, all the while promising himself that if he survives the night he will never, ever, ever visit any more ridiculous ancient ruins for the rest of his days.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He lands on the ground with a heavy thud. Based on his analysis from above and a quick check on Astoria’s tracker, he might possibly be in the right area. There is a field a ways below him, but he is possibly ten or more stories high. It sort of reminds him of a large quidditch stadium, and it seems as though a series of staircases will lead him to the field. He takes a deep breath before casting a disillusionment charm and starting his trudge onwards.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He manages to make his way through several darkened hallways and descend two sets of staircases before he sees another living soul. He hears them approaching long before he sees them, and manages to duck into the shadows against the wall before they pass.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good idea coming up this way, mate,” the shorter man says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco flattens himself against the wall and holds his breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I told you - Evilian is gorgeous, but fucking crazy. She’s as likely to take out you and me as she is that girl they’re keeping down there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you hear her screaming earlier? That was awful, mate. I - don’t like this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He clenches his wand tightly in his hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve heard worse. I fought in the second wizarding war, have I told you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shorter Guard sighs exasperatedly. “It’s the only thing you ever talk about. Arvin said that she’s Harry Potter’s friend, did you hear that? Reckon he might show up and try to rescue her?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bah, Arvin’s a lying tosser, that’s what...”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Their voices fade as they move past him, and all he can think about is Hermione. She had been screaming. She is - or was - nearby, at least.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She had been screaming.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He rushes onward, moving more quickly than before, and quickly descends the stairs, ducking into the shadows on occasion to avoid additional guards. His injured leg still stings and his entire body feels extremely weak from a month of getting poisoned to death, but he grimaces through it and breaks into a deeply uncomfortable jog.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he is briefly in an open aisle, the wind suddenly picks up. He glances around nervously, unease rising, as the wind feels as though it has a distinctly magical energy about it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He makes it down another set of stairs, stopping only for a moment to ogle a deeply sinister looking statue. It looks something like an ancient gargoyle but with a lion’s head, and the air around it feels oddly warm as he rushes past it. It almost feels as though the thing is watching him with its hard, stone eyes, and certainly does nothing to quell his anxiety.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Just as he is thinking that everything is a little too quiet, he turns a corner and smashes straight into one of two approaching guards.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So much for disillusionment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oi, sorry mate,” the fellow starts to mumble before taking in Draco’s appearance with a frown. “Hey...who are you then?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before the so-called guard can finish formulating his conclusion, Draco whips out his wand. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Stupefy!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The spell hits the poor polite bastard directly in the chest and he sinks to the ground in a heap.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before he can turn on the second guard, he hears the man shout, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Diffindo!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He jerks back with a grunt as the severing hex barely misses removing his head from his neck, instead grazing against his cheek in a painful but far less deadly manner. He feels hot blood well to the surface and seep out of the fresh wound as he jerks his wrist to quickly stun his attacker.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As the second guard collapses just beside the first, Draco hardly has time to catch his breath when a sharp movement in his periphery captures his attention.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Expelliarmus!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> he hears from a thin voice in the shadows to his left, and he winces as his wand flies out of his hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Slowly, he raises his hands in the air and turns to face his disarmer. The famliairish man is around his own height and build with a wide-eyed nervous look about him as he tucks away Draco’s wand. He certainly doesn’t have the demeanor of one of the hired guards - someone else, then. He tries to remember when he met the fellow. At his wedding, perhaps? A friend of the Greengrasses? Maybe someone he can trick into thinking they are working for the same side?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“D-Draco Malfoy,” the man stutters, clearly surprised to see a Malfoy skulking about. He levels his wand with slightly shaking hands.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He frowns again, eyeing the man more closely. They have definitely met before, but suddenly his focus is drawn to the satchel draped across the man’s shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He knows that satchel. He has spent an inordinate amount of time composing delightful insults regarding that satchel. It’s Hermione’s. The man who disarmed him has Hermione’s stupid, ugly satchel.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’s here somewhere, she has to be, and she had been screaming.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He keeps his hands in the air and takes a cautious step towards the man. “That’s me. And you are?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The man narrows his eyes as though insulted. “Devlin. Grant Devlin.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He blinks. Devlin. Davies had indeed mentioned him earlier as someone Hermione might seek out for assistance. Hermione had at one point as well, and in a way that caused the swelling of a deeply irrational hatred of the fellow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Devlin huffs indignantly. “Are you serious? You really don’t know who I am? I was at your wedding for Merlin’s sake.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s something else, he thinks - Hermione had said he was a professor of ancient runes, hadn’t she? Davies had said that she might have gone to hide out with him, yet here he is, comfortable enough to stroll around an ancient ruin teeming with Ignis Protectorate on the eve of a thoroughly insane ancient magical ritual.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He nods slowly, taking another slow step forward. Devlin shifts and holds his wand more tightly. If he can just take another few steps, he might be able to disarm the man. He might be able to do it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione is here, somewhere.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She had been screaming.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right. Yeah. You’re the Professor, aren’t you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t take another step.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He tentatively takes a very, very slow step, observing Devlin closely. “You are, aren’t you? I must say, I hate your bag, Professor. It’s quite hideous. I suppose it looks functional enough, however, if rather womanly.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Devlin glances down at the satchel and pales considerably.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He takes one more step forward, trying but failing to contain the rage building inside him. “She came to see you, didn’t she? Astoria told me she wanted to verify something about the ritual. You were helping her, weren’t you? Or pretending to, at least.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Devlin’s jaw trembles slightly but he nods, eyes darting around in a panic.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where is she?” he growls, narrowing his eyes dangerously and stepping forward once more. About four more steps and maybe, just maybe he can disarm him. “She went to see you and never came back. You have her bag. Where is she?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stay back,” Devlin warns, voice quivering somewhat. “I’m warning you, Malfoy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Where is she?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“In a cell beneath us,” Devlin half-sobs with a grimace. “She - Violet, and- oh gods, and Daphne-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He gapes at Devlin for a long moment as the man stutters, and he recognizes the look in his eyes. Profound regret, tinged with - something else. Something familiar.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Heartbreak.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His heart thuds heavily in his chest and he clenches his fist so tightly that he thinks he has drawn blood in his palms.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Violet will </span>
  <em>
    <span>kill</span>
  </em>
  <span> her! Devlin, she trusted you, didn’t she? Give me my wand. You have to help me get her out of there!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If Violet really does have her-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One more step forward.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-she is in even more trouble than he already feared.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Devlin cries, steadying his wand again. “Daphne, she - she promised me they wouldn’t hurt her.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, sure, that’s lovely,” he snaps angrily. She is in trouble, and so is he, but he has to - </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> something. Anything. “Well, as long as you trust Daphne Greengrass and Violet Evilian to keep a promise. Do you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stay </span>
  <em>
    <span>back,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Malfoy, I mean it! She </span>
  <em>
    <span>promised</span>
  </em>
  <span> me. I can’t say they won’t harm </span>
  <em>
    <span>you,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but Hermione- Daphne promised, she did, I swear it. I didn’t know-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You sold her out, didn’t you, you fucking prick,” he feels his voice rumbling in the back of his throat as his heart races in his chest. “Violet’s probably killing her right this very moment, and it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>all your fault.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Devlin protests with a feeble sob. “No, no, you don’t understand.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One. More. Step.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He starts to tense his muscles, ready to leap.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t I, you son of a bitch?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>love</span>
  </em>
  <span> her,” Devlin chokes out, hand shaking and lowering his wand just enough-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco’s heart clenches desperately, but he ignores it and charges Devlin in a rush with a wild shout.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Devlin tries to raise his wand again but he is too slow, as Draco locks his hands around his wrist and </span>
  <em>
    <span>twists, </span>
  </em>
  <span>hearing the satisfying clattering of a wand hitting the floor. Just like she had taught him so long ago in their little French cottage.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Devlin groans and gapes at him, wide-eyed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, you don’t. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>love her.” Draco rears back his fist and swings, punching Devlin </span>
  <em>
    <span>hard </span>
  </em>
  <span>in the face. He hears a satisfying crunch even as a stinging pain makes its way up the nerves of his hand and the man collapses in a rumpled heap on the ground.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’s in trouble.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He loves her and she might love him and she is in a cell below him somewhere and she is in trouble.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He reaches down to grab both wands and Hermione’s satchel.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’s in trouble.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Devlin groans and reaches for Draco’s leg. He has half a mind to stomp on the man’s fucking fingers to make sure he never has a </span>
  <em>
    <span>chance</span>
  </em>
  <span> of touching her ever again, but the bastard looks so pathetic, with blood seeping out of his nose, that he hesitates for a moment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He yanks the satchel away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Front...pocket,” Devlin mumbles, head lolling to the side as he coughs once. “Give it to her. She’ll...know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He rolls his eyes before casting a quick stunner to knock the man out, then he takes off down the hallway. His leg still stings somewhat with every step and the rest of his body is roaring achingly at him, but-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She had been </span>
  <em>
    <span>screaming.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he emerges from the corridor into a more open aisleway, he grunts and raises his hand to his face in an attempt to block the sudden onslaught of a gusting wind. With a mighty struggle, he shuffles forward a few steps before nearly diving behind a low wall to stave off the assault and catch his breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His hands are shaking with exhaustion, but she needs him, she is in trouble.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Risking a quick glance over the wall, he notes that the wind feels drenched in magical energy and has a faintly greenish tint to it as it swirls around the ruins. He sees a large field below him, two stories down with several shadowy figures congregating around a bright, fiery heptagram.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The ritual has started.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They might be fucked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His heart tugs in his chest as he falls back against the wall, but when he glances further down to the next lower circular aisle-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sees her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His heart nearly collapses in relief at the sight. She is looking down at the field braced heavily against the low wall, but she is </span>
  <em>
    <span>there</span>
  </em>
  <span> and she is </span>
  <em>
    <span>alive</span>
  </em>
  <span> and she said she </span>
  <em>
    <span>loves him </span>
  </em>
  <span>and he is already fighting against the wind and rushing towards her before he is consciously aware of his legs moving.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He squints through the violent wind towards the field and sees movement. He sees Astoria observing the scene warily, standing near Daphne, who is brandishing the runeknife in the air. Sebek-ari, wearing dark black robes, is speaking with an intense frown, while Gideon Greengrass takes a step towards his daughters.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The flames of the heptagram grow taller, hotter, and the wind gusts even more heavily through the air, and the center of the heptagram sinks into a terrifyingly endless pit of darkness. He thinks he sees - </span>
  <em>
    <span>something </span>
  </em>
  <span>- beginning to stir in the depths of the pit. His eyes widen as he observes the scene in a dawning horror, and with a racing heart he rushes down the steps as fast as he can towards Hermione.</span>
</p>
<p><br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0025"><h2>25. Astoria 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>As all of our Magical Chekhov Guns are locked and loaded, two chapters are posting today. The next one will be up shortly. Thanks for reading!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Astoria has been having nastier and nastier versions of her familiar nightmare every evening since the Equinox party. They are made particularly awful by not having Draco ready to lightly tease her in the mornings while she laughs at herself along with him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The usual horrible bits are present, as usual. She is still sailing on a ship as black as coal, floating along a sea of thick, bubbling blood into the darkness. She cannot see land any longer, nor any destination at all except for utter darkness. Whenever she thinks she sees a blindingly bright light in her periphery, it seems to avoid her gaze as she looks for it, dancing just out of her line of sight. Her ship is being chased by a fiery demon - she can see it, bright and terrifying through the darkness. She can feel the breath of it’s flames hot on the back of her neck. She can’t run from it. It’s as though they are tethered together, bound and doomed by an entwined destiny.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne is still always on her left, and Draco on her right.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sometimes, Hermione is there standing beside Draco and watching her, eyes sad and cheeks stained with dark tears of blood. Sometimes, they both disappear, flickering into darkness and leaving her feeling quite alone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sometimes, her own mother appears beside Daphne looking quite young and beautiful, wearing the ankh necklace and ruby ring that she had left as heirlooms for her daughters. It makes her heart ache more fiercely than ever to behold her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>‘You sweet thing,’</span>
  </em>
  <span> her mother used to say to her while she toyed happily with the ankh necklace. </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘You sweet little thing. You are more important to me than you will ever understand.’</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shudders thinking on it and attempts to focus on the task at hand. She needs to find Daphne. Daphne will see reason and will keep her safe.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Necropolis is as oppressive as she remembers it being. The air feels somewhat cold around her, and she shivers, glancing around nervously.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She moves about cautiously searching for her sister, while simultaneously keeping an eye out for any indication that Hermione is indeed being held somewhere nearby.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thinking on Hermione makes her heart quiver in her chest. As she takes another slow step down the darkened corridor, she thinks about what a fool she had been. All of those little glances between Hermione and Draco, all of Draco’s sharp little asides, all of Daphne’s cajoling - and oh, but that desperate, passionate kiss she had witnessed. It all seems depressingly obvious in hindsight that she herself was nothing but a pawn in an awful game, and the fairytale life she imagined for herself - the one involving living happily ever after with the first boy she had ever loved - was nothing but a house built of cards atop a foundation of lies, never having truly existed in the first place.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still, even after everything, Hermione had saved her life, hadn’t she? Sebek-ari might have killed her upon finding out the depth of her failures, and Hermione had safely led her out of the Estate by hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She doesn’t deserve to suffer mercilessly at the hands of Violet Evilian.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Or Daphne, she adds to her thoughts nervously.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As she continues her quiet trek to find her sister, her thoughts drift inevitably, longingly, to Draco.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne had been the one to administer the poison, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>she</span>
  </em>
  <span> had allowed it to happen, and had watched him wilt away all the while trying to convince herself that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>deserved</span>
  </em>
  <span> it for hurting her. Thinking about how ill he had looked under the bright lights of the hospital, pale and sweaty and clutching Hermione’s hand and his lips twitching into that familiar gentle smile of his but not for her, had a devastatingly sobering effect. Endless streams of tears from her eyes can hardly begin to make up for her disastrous choices.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had looked so overwhelmingly weak. It had made her feel a particular kind of evil that she never would have imagined herself capable of.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her heart twinges, wounded, furious at herself, fiercely guilty, and still helplessly in love.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eventually, she makes her way to the room on the lower level which Daphne had claimed as something like an office. It is a small, cold room, but Daphne keeps it decorated with little trinkets of their mother’s, almost as if it were a shrine - an ornate bronze candle holder, a beautiful silver mirror, a thick golden book.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The flames of the candle flicker and shadows dance across the room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The golden book is full of impossible to decipher hieroglyphs and strange ancient runes. She and Daphne used to invent meanings for the glyphs when they were young, she remembers with a little smile. She had always liked to pretend it was telling the story of a dashing prince coming to rescue a trapped princess. They would defeat her captor, fall in love, get married, and live happily ever after in her mind. Daphne would always laughingly roll her eyes and tease her, explaining that happy little fairy tales are only nonsensical stories meant for small children.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She is a little surprised to see that the book is currently being held in her sister’s hands and being read thoughtfully before snapping shut as Daphne sees her, eyes widening.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria takes a deep breath. She thinks that despite everything, she will be able to get through to her sister and convince her to stop the madness of this insane ritual. They don’t need to resurrect the Dark Lord - it will only cause them more misery, and she tries to formulate the proper words in her mind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tori!” Daphne gasps, immediately rising from her chair to envelop Astoria in a comfortingly tight embrace. “Oh, oh, Tori, you’re alright. You are alright, aren’t you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She stiffens uncomfortably for a moment before she nods and clutches her sister more tightly. Daphne will protect her no matter what, she always has. Even everything that happened with Draco, every awful thing they did to him, it was meant to keep her safe. “Yes, yes I’m fine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne pulls back and peers at her closely as if scanning for any damage, eyes sharp with worry. “Did she - </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> anything to you? Granger?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria shakes her head sharply. “No, of course not. Daph...is she here?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne’s eyes narrow somewhat, and Astoria feels an uncomfortable twitch in her stomach as she sees an unsettling flash of hatred flooding her sister’s eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She saved my life, you know,” she says slowly, watching her sister’s eyes grow even harder. “She might’ve left me behind at the Estate. What would Sebek-ari have thought then? He surely would have killed me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She took you away from me, Tori. She </span>
  <em>
    <span>kidnapped</span>
  </em>
  <span> you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Daph, please. Is she here? Is she - alright?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne’s nostrils flare and she takes a sharp breath before reaching out to lightly clasp Astoria’s hand. The ruby ring on her finger glimmers brightly in the firelight. “Of course you’re worried about her. Of </span>
  <em>
    <span>course </span>
  </em>
  <span>you are. She doesn’t deserve your concern, but you have the gentlest, most forgiving soul. Come along, you sweet, lovely thing. It’s almost time. Father and Sebek-ari will be out on the field already. We should join them, and - well, we can talk about Hermione Granger later on. You don’t need to worry your pretty head about </span>
  <em>
    <span>her.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But Daph, this ritual...” She trails off awkwardly, still unsure of the words to use to convince her sister of the insanity of it all, and finds herself nodding uneasily. Daphne’s eyes are alarmingly intense, and she shuts her mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne will keep her safe, and hopefully Draco will not be far behind her. She is uncomfortably sure that Hermione is nearby and that Daphne has done something to her, but - she isn’t sure what to do other than hope Draco can find her before anything truly awful happens.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She feels rather helpless as Daphne leads her out onto the grassy field. A heptagram of vibrant, vermillion orichalcum powder lies in front of her, and as promised, her father and Sebek-ari are standing by it, each wearing intense frowns before looking up at her arrival.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Astoria, you - you’re safe,” breathes Sebek-ari with a palpable sigh of relief and something like a tired smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her father smiles tightly. “And you’re...here, with your sister. Wonderful.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sebek-ari’s eyes narrow somewhat and he glances at Daphne with no small amount of suspicion.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne smiles saccharinely at him, and Astoria notices that awful, uncomfortable feeling beginning to grow in her belly. Amongst her family, she has long felt that some undefinable </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing</span>
  </em>
  <span> was going on in the background of which she remained entirely ignorant. They were all kind enough to her on their own, but between each other there were always these awkward exchanges and guarded glances. Even now she finds herself at a loss to explain what any of the three were truly thinking.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eventually, her father clears his throat. “You’re alright, Astoria? The Granger girl - she didn’t hurt you? When we heard what she was up to...”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She nods, thinking the less information she gives them, the better. All she needs to do is stall them long enough for Draco to find Hermione and gods, hopefully Hermione will know what to do. “I’m fine, Father. She left me in a rush, I don’t know where she went off to. I’m sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sebek-ari’s frown deepens as he moves to peer at her closely for a moment before turning back to face Daphne. “And Violet?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne shrugs languidly, still grinning. “She must be running around here somewhere. Why do you ask?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sebek-ari clenches his jaw and glances sharply between all of the members of the Greengrass family. “It’s almost time. Gideon and I will finish the preparations here. Astoria - you’ve had a difficult day, I’m sure. Please, rest, will you? Daphne, fetch Granger.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione really </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> here then, and assuredly in trouble if they want to drag her right up to the ritual site itself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her heart thuds in her chest as she weighs her options. Begging them not to go through with the ritual does not seem likely to work. Waiting for Hermione to show up and miraculously save the day does not seem like a safe bet either. Destroying the summoning foci herself is risky, but if it comes down to it-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Granger, it’s always Granger, isn’t it? Mmm, no, I don’t think I will go fetch her,” Daphne replies in an airy voice, interrupting her panicked reverie.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria watches her sister’s taunting face uneasily, feeling a sudden urge to back as far away from all of them as possible. Unfortunately, the heptagram lined with orichalcum powder is directly behind her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then again, perhaps if they are distracted enough by each other, she can disrupt the summoning energy with a lower likelihood of being noticed-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“May I ask what you intend to do instead?” asks Sebek-ari in a cold voice, eyes dark and hard.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne flicks her wand through the air and conjures a bright, flickering flame. “Well, dear Sebek-ari, I am intending on beginning this little ritual of ours. I think you’ll find that the final preparations are all quite complete.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria nervously shuffles backwards one step. She recognizes that sound in Daphne’s voice. She recognizes it from her childhood of playing against her sister in chess or exploding snap. It means that Daphne is playing a game which she is unnervingly confident that she will win, and her opponents will be thoroughly blindsided as to how.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her father looks extremely apprehensive, while Sebek-ari looks as though he is grinding his teeth to dust before he takes a deep breath, speaking in a deadly tone. “You’re forgetting, Daphne, that we need Granger. We need to conduct the sacrifice-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria pales. Oh gods. They wouldn’t - they </span>
  <em>
    <span>couldn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>sacrifice Hermione in order to raise the Dark Lord.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Could they?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“-and the runeknife needs to be activated.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah, I see. You mean this runeknife?” Daphne suddenly twirls that awful, evil knife in her free hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The blood red runes are </span>
  <em>
    <span>glowing,</span>
  </em>
  <span> bright and terrifying in the darkness.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria feels her hands tremor on their own accord as she stares at the knife, transfixed by the runes with her plan of disrupting the ritual suddenly forgotten. The runes seem important, somehow, though she has no idea what they could mean. They almost seem to be calling out to her in an eerie whisper, speaking a language she doesn’t understand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sebek-ari starts to take a menacing step forward, but Daphne brandishes the knife with a manic look about her, and he stills, wand hand twitching.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think you’ll find that we have no need of Hermione </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking </span>
  </em>
  <span>Granger,” Daphne smiles, eyes glinting darkly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Daphne,” offers her father stiltedly. “Be reasonable, dear. Let’s stay calm, shall we? No need to make any rash decisions. We’re here tonight for a reason, aren’t we?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her teeth clatter nervously as she almost overwhelmingly wishes that Draco was there to hold her hand and smile comfortingly at her, so much so that her heart physically aches with despair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The grin on Daphne’s face grows wider. “We </span>
  <em>
    <span>are,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Father. That’s very true. I suppose we should get on with it then, shouldn’t we?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At that, with a flick of her wrist the flame from Daphne’s wand bursts forward and makes contact directly with the powdered heptagram.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria gasps as hot, bright flames sprout up rapidly behind her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sebek-ari makes a move for his wand, and-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Expelliarmus,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> calls out Daphne with a dark smile, quickly securing both the wands of a raging Sebek-ari and their terrified looking father.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria feels her jaw trembling as she despondently observes the scene play out in front of her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, have I long dreamed of this day,” Daphne says in a low voice, even as the rapid rushing of violent winds descends upon them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In a sudden flash, Daphne takes a quick step forward and slashes the runeknife across Sebek-ari’s throat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria watches in wide-eyed horror as the man brings a hand to the gash and blood seeps through his fingers as Daphne grins at him madly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sebek-ari collapses to his knees, gazes at Astoria desperately as if begging for help, but despite the warmth of the flames erupting from the heptagram, her body feels absolutely frozen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He breathes out a wet, bloody gurgle before collapsing to the ground. Dead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She has known him for her entire life, and-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He used to smilingly sneak her sweets, and-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He danced with her and beamed so proudly at her wedding, and-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She is sure he would have killed her if he had found out about Draco, and-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her hands tremble frightfully at her side.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Daphne,” gasps their father, taking a cautious step forward, eyes darting in a panic between his eldest daughter and the dead man on the ground. “Daphne, what-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne turns smilingly at his approach, knife clutched at her side.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hot wind gusts up from the abyss behind her. It feels like fire. Red hot flames, licking at the back of her neck.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco - he’s coming, he has to come, he said he would, oh gods-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Short-sighted fools, the both of you. Shouldn’t you be thanking me, Father? Or do you think I don’t remember what he did to our family?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She has no earthly idea what Daphne is referring to, but her heart is beating erratically in her ribcage as she watches her father’s face rapidly turn white.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sebek-ari had always loved them in his own way, always, but-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dead. His dark eyes are open and cold and staring at her and she shudders despite the flames at her back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Daphne...”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Or rather, what </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> did. There is so much I’ve never forgotten,” Daphne sneers, stalking a step closer to their father. “I promised Mother I would never forget, you see.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Daphne, I-” His voice breaks as his eyes shimmer with unshed tears.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m afraid you won’t be able to cry your way out of this, Father.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Just as before, Astoria watches in terror as Daphne steps forward and violently slashes the knife across their father’s throat. His eyes are wide and frightened as he falls to his knees. The blood-red runes on the knife seem to glow and snarl.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Father,” Astoria gasps, wanting desperately to rush forward and take him into her arms, but her legs seem paralyzed. Daphne is standing between them and turns to face her with a wide grin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The knife is dripping blood. Bright red blood, and it is splattered on Daphne’s clothes. Streaks of it decorate her face, and Astoria thinks her sister looks absolutely mad. It - doesn’t make sense, none of it makes any sense, and her father is dying while her mind is struggling to analyze what exactly she is seeing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t be scared, love,” Daphne whispers, so softly yet carrying above the sound of the violent wind. “They deserved much worse. I promised Mum I would keep you safe and protect you from all of it, but now...”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A bloody gurgle escapes her father’s throat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria takes a half step back with a quiet whimper as Daphne moves towards her, but the abyss is directly behind her, hot and </span>
  <em>
    <span>growling,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and Astoria is struck by a vivid image from her nightmares. That </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing</span>
  </em>
  <span> is behind her, the ground is soaked in blood, Draco is gone, and Daphne...</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne has always protected her. Always. She shouldn’t be scared, but Sebek-ari’s corpse is still bleeding not two meters away from her and her father is twitching on the ground and her own heart is doing somersaults in her chest and Daphne’s eyes are sparkling with madness.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Daph...you will, won’t you? Keep me safe? Still my guardian angel, aren’t you?” She can hardly hear her own voice above the gusts of magical energy and the pounding in her head, but Daphne’s eyes seem to soften and the arm holding the runeknife relaxes somewhat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She takes a shaky breath and wants to cry as Daphne takes several steps forward to close the gap between them and sweeps her into an embrace.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, Tori. You sweet, sweet thing. You’ll understand everything soon, I promise.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hesitantly brings her arms up to meet Daphne’s embrace, choking back a sob even as she tries to maintain awareness of the evil, cursed knife.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Daph, please,” she says quietly, not entirely sure what she is begging for. Her entire body starts to shake uncontrollably in her sister’s arms.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Their father stops moving, lying dead next to Sebek-ari, blood mingling together and seeping into the trembling, magic-drenched earth beneath them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” Daphne whispers, reaching up to gently brush a loose strand of hair out of Astoria’s eyes. “You’ll understand soon, Tori.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne cups her cheek tenderly for a moment and takes a step back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The runeknife glimmers in her sister’s hand, bloody and glowing with ancient energy, and Astoria can only watch in horror as Daphne lifts the knife in the air.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Time seems to slow to a crawl.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hears the fire roaring, flames licking against the back of her neck.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She feels the tip of the knife in Daphne’s hand press into her chest, just barely breaking the skin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She sees Daphne’s eyes, flickering bright red with madness, as red as their mother’s suddenly glowing ruby ring on her finger.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hears garbled words emerge from her sister’s mouth, some awful, ancient spell.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She feels the knife sink deeper into her chest, burning brightly, tearing through flesh and sinew and clanking roughly against bone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hears a violent roar from behind her, and below.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She sees the veins in Daphne’s neck swell up, turning a flaming red as they pulse in resonance with the monster’s growls.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She notes that her vision is fading, and she vaguely hopes that she managed to buy Draco enough time to find Hermione, and that maybe the two of them can somehow put a stop to this abomination.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She chokes on the thick, metallic taste of her own blood.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She feels the knife push even deeper, to the hilt and straight into her heart. Tears spring loosely from her eyes as she collapses weakly into her sister’s arms, violent fire billowing around them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shh,” whispers Daphne over the mayhem exploding around them, eyes blood red and darkening. “You’ll understand soon. I love you, Tori.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria blinks heavily, unsure of how to even begin to formulate a response as her chest hitches and the world continues to fade to black at the edge of her vision.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne gently strokes her hair and leads her to the ground. Her body refuses to take in air, the world is burning all around her, and her heart is physically and spiritually broken. This, she thinks, must be what death feels like.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her final thought is to wonder if maybe this is all just one of her ridiculous nightmares, and when she wakes up and tells her wonderful, sweet, dearest Draco about it he’ll smile at her with a little glint in his eyes before teasing her for being so silly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shuts her eyes. The world around her is alight with fire, but she slowly fades away into darkness.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0026"><h2>26. Daphne 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“I hate you,” Mother tells Father in the study one evening.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I am aware,” Father replies stiffly, sounding angry.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne frowns from her hiding place under Father’s desk and is momentarily distracted from her cauldron cake.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t do this, Gideon. Not again. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> touch me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Listen, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>have </span>
  </em>
  <span>to. Please, I - I need you to. After everything he did for us during the war...I can’t pay him back right now, you know that, and you know what he’ll do to me - </span>
  <em>
    <span>to us.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He’s dangerous, but we have one thing that he wants, don’t we? We have </span>
  <em>
    <span>you.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mother scoffs harshly. “He’s far less depraved than you are, you know. You’re a fool and a monster, Gideon.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Silence for a moment, then a loud slap followed by her mother’s cry of pain.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne shivers under the desk and clutches her stuffed hippogriff close to her chest, instinctively knowing not to make a sound.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Mother hits the floor, Daphne tearfully meets her eyes from under the desk, seeing the flickering flames of the fireplace reflected there. Mother’s eyes widen, but she shakes her head subtly as if warning Daphne to stay there, and to stay quiet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And so she does.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sebek-ari strolls through the floo confidently, dusting off a bit of ash when he hears Daphne playing in her usual hiding place under the desk.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He walks around the desk and squats down, face as harsh as ever, and peers at her closely.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She watches him curiously, intrigued as he reaches into his pocket. He pulls out a chocolate frog, which she instantly gazes at desirously.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A rare smile twitches upon his lips. “Here. Don’t tell your mother. Is Astoria in the library as usual? I have something for her too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne reaches greedily for the frog and shrugs, wondering what he brought for Astoria. He usually gave nicer chocolates to Tori, much to her own displeasure. “Probably.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He nods, and seems to hesitate. “And - your mother? She’s home, yes?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne nods and rips open the wrapping to her treat. “Mum’s upstairs.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And your father? Is he home as well?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shakes her head and begins to mumble around the jumping bits of chocolate she has already shoved in her mouth. “No, he went out for a bit. I dunno where.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sebek-ari offers yet another brief smile before setting his face back into that familiar stony grumpiness. “Right. Alright then. Now, mind your manners, Miss Daphne. Don’t speak with your mouth full, and what do we say when someone does something nice for us?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you,” she grins, with her teeth still sticky with chocolate and a frog leg dangling out of her mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He lets out a little chortle before striding out of the room, and she decides that he must be in a good mood for some reason, what with the smiling and the laughing and the chocolates. He usually just sits around with Father while they make grumpy faces and drink whiskey and talk about boring serious sounding things.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you well, Mum? You seem tired.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Look at this ring, Daphne, look closely. It’s your birthright, my sweet.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s very pretty. But, Mum-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“One day I’ll be gone, and it will be yours.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But - I don’t want you to be gone, Mum.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, I won’t ever truly be gone, Daphne my sweet. Our family can conquer death. Love is the most ancient, most powerful, most glorious form of magic, did you know that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mum...”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Have I read you the story of the ancient pharaoh and his long lost love? He used the ring, Daphne, he bound the demon of the underworld and the world was his. He conquered death, reunited with his love, and brought forth his army of the dead to avenge himself upon those who harmed her.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes...from that gold book of yours, with the hieroglyphs.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Learn it well, Daphne. I am prepared to face death, because I know I’ll come back. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You </span>
  </em>
  <span>will bring me back, and the world will be ours. It has been foretold by the ancient seers of old. Make sure to protect your sister. You’ll need her, Daphne, when the time is right...”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She thinks her mother’s eyes look unnaturally bright, but doesn’t say so.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll protect her, Mum. I swear it. And I’ll protect you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My parents are taking me to France over the hols,” Hermione Granger snits one afternoon to her housemates during potions class. “They’re dentists, you see. That is, it’s a muggle profession. They tend to people’s teeth. It’s quite well regarded.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne bites back commentary about the annoying girl’s ridiculous buck teeth and thinks that perfect little teacher’s pet Hermione Granger has probably never had to watch her dentist father beat her dentist mother senseless, and presumably neither parent has ever attempted to sell the other to anyone else to cover a debt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She scoffs as the girl prattles on arrogantly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She isn’t jealous. A sweet little family vacation in France sounds </span>
  <em>
    <span>boring.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her mother’s dead eyes stare blankly from the ground to her hiding place under her father’s desk. Her body had twitched for a time as she had gurgled and choked on her own blood before eventually stilling, never to move again. Blood pools under her mother’s head, pouring out of the gaping gash across her throat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne’s hands shake and she wets herself and she is so desperately thankful that Astoria is fast asleep as the squelching sounds of her father stabbing her mother to death in a fit of anger replay in her mind, and with tears silently stinging her eyes she wishes they could have simply been muggle dentists and gone on that sweet, boring little family vacation to France.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sebek-ari, I - I need your help, old friend. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Please,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> her father sobs drunkenly into the floo. “I fucked up. Please. Please, help me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The fireplace roars and within moments she sees Sebek-ari’s expensive shoes approach her mother’s corpse, along with her father. Sebek-ari lets out an awful noise but composes himself quickly, providing instructions soon enough about how to dispose of the body with a thoroughly shaken voice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m going to kill them both,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she promises her mother before her vacant corpse disappears. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m going to kill them, and I’m going to bring you back, and the world will be ours. I promise. I love you.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She learned what sex is recently.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She thinks about her mother and her father and Sebek-ari and sex.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With a frown, she looks from her sister to her father and absently notes that they look nothing alike.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Almost as though they’re not related.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Look, Draco,” laughs Blaise Zabini in the common room one evening, waving Rita Skeeter’s rubbish Daily Prophet article about. “Granger’s getting famous for whoring about. Sounds like she’s fucking everyone except for you these days! Don’t be too heartbroken, eh mate? She’s sure to come after you eventually, the slut. Better get your wallet ready.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t care who the Mudblood whore is fucking,” snaps Draco, cheeks reddening in that way that indicates he is about to puff his chest out and rant about how ugly she is, how annoying, how swotty, how arrogant, how much he hates her, and so forth in a transparent attempt to disprove his obvious infatuation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne rolls her eyes. How predictably boring. She had listened to the two daft idiots sniping at each other during potions just that very morning and nearly expected him to tug on her metaphorical pigtails and attempt to start aggressively snogging until someone’s cauldron exploded.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Absolutely ridiculous.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She stares at the fireplace flickering in the common room and she fumes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione Granger, with her perfect little dentist family who vacationed in France together while Daphne’s own mother bled to death on a scratchy rug in her father’s study, is hardly worth anyone’s obsession.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Particularly someone like Draco Malfoy, who should know better.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Idiots, all of them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sometimes when she looks at her sister, she misses her mother fiercely, with a deep, aching longing in her heart.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s rather handsome, isn’t he?” Astoria blushes prettily one day as they watch a certain blond Slytherin dive about on his broom and bark authoritative orders at his quidditch mates.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne rolls her eyes, as she often does. “Oh, Tori. No. Don’t waste your time on Draco Malfoy. Please, for my own sanity, choose a boy in your own year to crush on, will you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her sister’s blush deepens. “I was just making an observation, that’s all.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her father and Sebek-ari stare at her, barely attempting to hide their curiosity.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll need to find someone to help translate the rest of the book, of course, but it’s quite clear, considering the ancient blood of my mother’s lineage,” she starts before launching into the details about the logistics of completing such a complex summoning ritual. Floating the idea had been simple enough, as had directing their simple minds towards the concept of resurrecting the Dark Lord.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She twirls her mother’s ring on her finger and doesn’t mention what powers it possesses.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have a contact who can help us source orichalcum,” Sebek-ari mulls over the idea thoughtfully. “It will take years to mine the required amount, however. We would need an alchemist to ensure the proper handling, and somewhere safe and stable to store it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She stares at her father for a long moment, as if willing the idea to take root inside his moronically slow brain. Eventually, his eyes brighten as he sorts it all out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We can use the Egyptian Estate!” he enthuses, vaguely proud of himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The cellar, perhaps,” she agrees, holding back a roll of her eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sebek-ari eyes her carefully for a moment. “A runeknife may be somewhat more difficult to procure.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll handle it.” She smiles at him, and eventually he gives her a slow nod.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All too easy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you hear? Ronald Weasley was killed yesterday,” Astoria gasps, flipping through the newspaper.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne shrugs, holding back something like a smirk and observing the flickering flame of the candle on their table. “No, I hadn’t heard. He was married to, ah, Hermione Granger, didn’t he?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Engaged, I believe,” Astoria responds distractedly. “Oh, no, it says here that they were just dating - for a number of years, however. It seems as though she was there when - well, when it happened.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne’s heart faintly sings as she remembers Granger’s happy little dentist family and their happy little family vacations and their loving little muggle lives. Weasley had always trailed after Granger with absurd mooncalf eyes back in school. The constant scrapping with Draco was old before it even began. She wonders who killed the fool, and if she might arrange to send them a card.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you alright? You must’ve known him quite well, being in the same year and all.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shrugs, reaching up to swipe her fingers through the candle flames. It doesn’t hurt at all, and she thinks it is almost a beautiful sight. “My year is full of ghosts, Tori. It’s a veritable graveyard. What’s another dead classmate at this point? Honestly, death is rather passé if you ask me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria gapes at her for a moment. “Well, I think it sounds awful. Poor Hermione.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne can hardly keep the grin contained inside any longer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I dislike the fact that you’ve involved Blaise Zabini so heavily in this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He got us the runeknife, didn’t he?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re sleeping with him?” It’s half-question, half-statement, as he clearly knows the answer already.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why, Sebek-ari, don’t tell me you’re jealous, are you?” she smirks at him, lightly touching his arm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stares uncomfortably at her hand for a moment, but he doesn’t make any attempt to remove her from his person. “He is unstable, and untrustworthy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s an idiot, but we need him, for now,” she insists, squeezing his arm lightly for a moment before withdrawing her hand, smiling inside at the odd expression on his face. “This rune here - it means sacrifice, I’m quite sure about that. Mum taught me. I’ll be meeting with an expert this week to confirm the runes I don’t recognize. We’ll simply need to keep Blaise around until the ritual is ready to conduct.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He does not look convinced and suggests they come up with a backup plan. As he absently brushes his hand against the spot upon his forearm where her own hand had recently vacated, she smiles at him, all the while thinking about her mother’s blood seeping into the fibers of the rug in her father’s study next to his shoes, and she vaguely wonders what Sebek-ari’s face would look like, eyes wide with terror and body drained of blood.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This - is all theoretical, yes?” asks Professor Grant Devlin with a slightly dubious frown at the golden book on the table.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She smiles at him and reflects on the fact that he used to fuck Hermione Granger of all people. An image of the swotty girl’s face discussing holiday plans and her dentist parents floats unbidden to her mind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At that, she makes up her mind on two things at once - she is going to convince him to help her interpret the final runes in her mother’s book about the summoning ritual, and she is going to seduce him in the process.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Professor,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> she simpers in that voice she uses so successfully on occasion against men such as him. She touches his arm lightly. “It’s something of a research project. Perhaps we could discuss it over cocktails this evening, hmm?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He glances down at her hand briefly and a bashful smile slowly spreads across his face. He seems rather sweet, actually, much to her surprise.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For a brief moment, she remembers her mother’s sexuality being used as currency, but she quickly shoves that thought out of her mind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, don’t you look pretty,” Daphne observes with a raised eyebrow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria blushes like a schoolgirl at having gotten caught nearly sneaking out of the Estate. “Er, thank you. I, ah, have a date tonight, you see.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne sighs, having been expecting this since they ran into Draco Malfoy at the museum the other day.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I’ve been going on dates too, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she wants to say. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He’s smart, and sweet, and a good enough lay, but I’m fucking him for information while he’s still hung up on Hermione Granger, just like everybody else in this damned world.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know you still don’t like him, Daph, but I do. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> do, and I have this entire time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She sighs, draping an arm gently across her sister’s shoulder. “I just don’t want you to get hurt, Tori. You know that, don’t you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria smiles sweetly. “I know you’ll always protect me. You’re my guardian angel, Daph.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She sighs. “I am, for now. It’s my job, after all. Keep in mind, however, if you really do start dating Draco again, I just might put in my resignation papers.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria laughs and kisses her on the cheek before departing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Seeing Hermione Granger for the first time since Hogwarts provides some amusement, at least.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She nearly wants to roll her eyes at how cold Granger looks, playing as though she has had to actually suffer in life. As though she didn’t have a happy little childhood involving delightful little family trips to France and a happier little adulthood involving receiving nearly constant praise from the entire wizarding world for being the cleverest little war heroine alive. So what if the Weasley twat was killed? Better people than him die all the time. She is sure that Granger had probably moved on and began whoring about immediately afterwards with nary a second thought.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m fucking your former lover,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thinks at Granger with a smirk as she fiddles with her mother’s ring. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Do you know that? They always said you were so smart. Even your Professor Devlin can’t shut up about you and your famous brain. But I know something that you don’t know. How does that make you feel, you clever thing?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Watching Granger and Draco make eyes at each other, the same brand of sneering flirtation that had gotten so boring at Hogwarts, makes her sigh aloud. She feels a little badly for Tori, but not entirely. She had warned her sister about the idiot, after all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Granger holds her gaze coldly for a moment, and Daphne smiles.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The Professor told me all about you. I know what you’re like in bed, Miss Cleverest War Heroine Witch, and you don’t know a thing about me.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you know what Hermione Granger might be up to in Egypt?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Devlin frowns for a moment. It’s a test, of course - she knows Granger is hunting down some dusty old artifact called the Eye of Ra, and she knows that he wrote a highly regarded paper about that very object a time ago.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The fireplace dances and crackles happily behind her, and she delights in the heat of it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he nods hesitantly, she smiles and moves to take a seat on his lap.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why don’t you tell me about it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This was a mistake,” Sebek-ari says curtly as he pulls up his trousers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s what you said last time,” Daphne leans back on the bed lazily and relishes the sated yet tortured look on his face. “And the time before that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He glares at her sharply and begins buttoning his dress shirt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Astoria looked lovely today, didn’t she?” she drawls, watching him closely as she rises from the bed. “A beautiful bride. She really takes after my mother, don’t you think? Not so much my father, however.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His hands still and he looks at her with a guarded expression.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She glances at her reflection in her mother’s silver mirror, savoring the little bruises and violent bite marks bright against her naked skin which Sebek-ari always leaves behind in his wake. Her body aches delightfully, all the while she reminds herself that she certainly doesn’t owe Grant Devlin any particular loyalty. Not after watching him trailing behind Hermione Granger like a sad little puppy at the wedding reception.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If only my mother could have been here for the wedding,” she smiles sweetly as his eyebrows twitch. “I expect she would be quite proud of her daughter. Don’t you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...Indeed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She watches him watching her and wonders if he has any idea how vividly she has imagined his death over the years. She is going to make sure to look him in the eyes as he expires, and she expects she’ll see in his expression that he knows he deserves what’s coming to him. He has always been a handsome man, but she thinks he would look even better sliced open from ear to ear and drenched in his own blood.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re awake early. Something wrong?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes. It’s - Draco.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, Astoria. I’ve long expected this. I warned you, didn’t I? He’s fucking Granger, isn’t he?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s worse than that. I think - they’re going to kill me. Sebek-ari, Violet - they’re going to kill me. Oh Daphne, I think I’ve married a Ministry spy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...I see. I had thought - I see it now. It was Granger, it has to be. She chose him because of his connection to you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I must have been mad to think that he loved me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, dear. It’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>your</span>
  </em>
  <span> fault. Your only fault is being too kind, too forgiving. No, this is </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> fault for being a lying cunt, and fucking Granger’s fault for throwing him in your path in the first place.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Daphne. Oh, Daph, what should I do? They’ll find out, and they killed Blaise, didn’t they? Blaise, who did nothing! And-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Calm down. What does he know?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I - think he and Hermione were in the cellar tonight.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well...don’t cry, Tori. Listen. We can’t let anyone else know about this. We’ll have to handle it ourselves.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“W-what do you mean?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We cannot allow any suspicion to fall upon you. He must be able to move about freely, as he usually would. Although - he won’t know it, but he will be on a leash. He’ll learn nothing else. He’ll have to go, but slowly. If he were to, say, become ill, and remain ill for a time...”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...I don’t - I can’t-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He has to die, Tori. It’s either him or you. And I will </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> let it be you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Devlin seems distracted, and she sighs, sure that the bastard had another run-in with his former lover. He always ends up in </span>
  <em>
    <span>a mood</span>
  </em>
  <span> after he sees her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I saw your ex-girlfriend at a party the other day, you know,” she grins at him slyly. “The love of your life, wasn’t she?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It - wasn’t like that,” Devlin answers sheepishly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No? Well then I suppose it won’t break your heart to find out that she’s been fucking my very pretty new brother-in-law, would it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She has his full attention now, reveling in his eyes darkening and the ripple in his cheeks as his jaw clenches. He moves to close the distance between them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Draco Malfoy? I hardly believe that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shrugs languidly as his hands come to rest on her hips. “It doesn’t matter, I suppose. Why should you care who she’s fucking?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t,” he sniffs, leaning in to press his lips to hers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Within moments, she is on her back on his desk and gasping as he fills her so exquisitely.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t want her,” she informs him somewhat desperately, almost wishing it to be true as he presses into her deeply.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I only want you,” he whispers, breath hot against her neck.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He is lying, but she certainly doesn’t care, and it honestly doesn’t bother her in the slightest that he groans Hermione Fucking Granger’s name when he comes inside her with a shudder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco’s head lolls to the side. He looks sickly and awful, and her heart soars as she smiles down at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His eyes flutter open and he blinks at her dazedly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She grasps his chin and forces his mouth open, watching him as he groans and weakly bats at her with exhausted arms.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You should never have come to Egypt, Draco,” she whispers. “You broke my dear sister’s heart, you know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She presses the flask of poison to his lips and grins as he chokes on the liquid. He is so weak that he wouldn’t even be able to even lift a teacup on his own.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It is only a matter of time now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We already know that this rune is blood. And this one, sacrifice. This one here? It’s a bit complicated, but I believe it means family. The female variant - a mother, or a sister, more probably.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She frowns, an unsettling feeling growing deep in her gut as she reflects on the runes in the book, the same as on the runeknife. She remembers her mother’s words, and the ugly pieces seem to be falling into place.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The last thing she needs is Sebek-ari or her father learning this information. Or, Merlin forbid, Hermione Granger.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Grant...you’ll tell me, won’t you? If anyone comes around asking about these runes? This is such important research, I would hate for someone else to get the credit for it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hesitates, but nods eventually. “Of course I’ll tell you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She presses her lips to his and wishes just for a moment that he would hold her close and tell her that everything will be fine, but he purses his lips stiffly against her. She sighs, wondering if he would cast her aside in a heartbeat for Hermione Fucking Granger, so she reaches defiantly into his trousers and grabs a hold of his cock. He gasps against her lips and shifts his hips. She thinks maybe she’ll remind him again about the lurid details of Granger’s little dalliance with Draco the Death Eater and see if he’s still in love with the filthy whore.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Whoever they are,” she whispers, nipping at his lower lip while maneuvering him to the couch. She smiles as she sinks to her knees between his legs and he watches her with heady eyes. “Don’t worry, nobody’s going to </span>
  <em>
    <span>die </span>
  </em>
  <span>or anything. You’ll just - need to delay them for a time and let me know right away. That’s all. You can do that for me, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Professor.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Can’t you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He groans and thrusts his hips upwards. As she takes him into her mouth, his eyes darken and he wraps a hand in her hair. “Of course I can. Anything for you. I...mmm, nobody will get hurt? Oh-</span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Daphne-!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She gazes up at him, smiling around a mouthful of his cock, and says no more. Her mind is whirling even as she goes through the motions and flicks her tongue in that way she knows he likes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Blood.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sacrifice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The female variant.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mother.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sister.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Make sure to protect your sister. You’ll need her, Daphne, when the time is right.’</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She glances sidelong at Jalby the house-elf, leaning in to whisper in Astoria’s ear as her sister frowns slightly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria’s eyes dart around nervously before she excuses herself, and Daphne feels a strange, tugging sensation in her stomach urging her to follow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She continues listening to the conversation in the room, all while staring into the bright, flickering flames of the fireplace. The wood crackles and slowly chars to ashes, and she can hardly tear her eyes away. She stares at the hauntingly beautiful fire and she thinks about the ifrit and about her mother and she feels a deep longing, so deep that it encompasses every fiber of her being with every breath she takes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“On that note, I’m afraid I’ve been called to return to Durmstrang immediately,” Ackerly Viridian is saying with something of a glint in his eyes. “Urgent business, you know. Mr. Kershaw, you’ll find, will be quite capable in filling in for the final preparations...or whatever else you may need.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She exchanges a sharp look with Sebek-ari. Not for the first time, she is convinced that Viridian knows more about their plot than he has let on, but it does not worry her very much. Ever the researcher, he seems quite curious about the end-state of the ritual, and apparently would happily offer up his younger alchemy partner as a sacrifice in order to find out more.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her thoughts linger on Astoria’s rushed departure. “Very well. Thanks as ever, Ackerly. Shall we adjourn, gentlemen?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her heart beats steadily as they leave the study and make their way down the hallway together. Every step feels precarious, and her ears strain, listening to whispered words coming from the foyer, yet unable to get a clear sense of them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When they turn the corner, she comes to a sudden stop at seeing Hermione Granger balancing Draco Malfoy, leaning heavily across her shoulders, with Astoria mere steps below them looking quite pale.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her hand moves instinctively towards her wand, but-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria. She has to protect Astoria. If anyone else finds out the truth about Draco, then-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She has no idea what lengths Sebek-ari might go to. Father, too, and she is all too familiar with the capacity for destruction he can inflict upon his own family.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Granger levels her with a taunting smirk, clearly knowing how entirely helpless Daphne is in that moment as she is forced to watch the events unfold in front of her and her hands shake with wrath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her heart is smashing against her chest in fury and she is close, so very close, to whipping out her wand and severing Granger’s pretty fucking head from her shoulders right then and there, but Astoria-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria’s eyes are wide and fearful.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Make sure to protect your sister. You’ll need her, Daphne, when the time is right.’</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She steadies her breathing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Granger,” she forces out tightly. “I’ll be sure to think of a way to repay you for this...kindness. Be sure of that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Granger stills for the barest moment before stalking forward, dragging Astoria and Malfoy off into the night with her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her hand clenches into a fist at her side and she ignores the suspicious way Sebek-ari is watching her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh yes, Hermione Granger will pay. Violently. And soon.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Revenge, it seems, won’t need to wait for very long.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She allows herself the briefest moment of surprise at the fact that Devlin actually contacted her and willingly sold out his pretty little cunt of an ex-lover. Her heart does a little flip in her chest, wondering if she herself has actually become the new teacher’s pet. If pretty, clever little Granger were more present in the moment rather than halfway passed out and moaning pathetically on the floor, she might be quite put-out at losing her class ranking.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She has lovely little fantasies as to how her ultimate vengeance will play out, but Devlin, despite his treachery, is apparently all too willing to play the white knight for the fucking woman once again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her little plans will have to wait. She needs Astoria far more desperately.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For now, she supposes she’ll have to settle for the satisfying crunch of Violet’s boot stomping on Hermione Granger’s suddenly much less pretty face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne, evidently unlike everyone else in the fucking world, does not have an obsession with Hermione Granger.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Violet, I have a proposition for you. Say I wanted you to bring my sister directly to me rather than to Sebek-ari first. Might I be able to convince you to do such a thing?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Violet’s eyes darken as she raises a curious eyebrow. “You might, indeed. Might you have something to offer me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She explains the concept of feminine solidarity, before offering both an obscene amount of money and free reign to do whatever she likes to their magiarchaeologist prisoner.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Violet grins in that unsettling way of hers and agrees.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne smiles a little bit when she thinks about Violet’s strange, violent, psychopathic obsession with Hermione Granger. Although she is still unclear as to why so many people are infatuated with the woman, between Violet, Draco, Devlin, and hells, even Astoria, she certainly appreciates Violet’s perspective the most.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She herself is certainly not suffering from any sort of morbid fascination with Granger, although she finds herself thinking more and more often that she would dearly love to watch Violet bring the woman to a painful end.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She might smilingly let Draco sit about, chained and helpless and crying as Violet flays Granger alive in front of his eyes, her face convulsing while screaming in pain as Violet tears away little strips of skin. She might suck Devlin’s cock while Violet carves off the top of Granger’s skull so everyone can get a good look at that famous brain of hers and see that it looks just the same as everyone else’s and really isn’t so special after all. She might slit Draco’s throat followed by the same for Granger and watch them learn the pain Mum suffered through so long ago as they bleed out and the two idiot lovers she has long despised might expire together. Then she might use the power of the ifrit to bring them back to life and do it all over again, burning the flesh off their bones and acting out even darker versions she has in mind of this fantasy of Hermione Granger’s horrifically painful demise.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She certainly is not obsessed with the girl whose dentist parents took her on vacation to France once. Not in the slightest. She does, however, have to admit that her little daydream would be a proper way to end things for the bitch, and the thought of it is rather euphoric.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shuts her eyes and smiles to herself, replaying in her mind the gorgeous sounds of Granger’s pained, desperate, suffering screams at Violet’s hands echoing up from the catacombs. A pleasant shiver courses through her body.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Violet is going to kill her!” Devlin gasps with wide eyes. “Daphne - Daph, please-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She rolls her eyes, reaching forward to trail her finger along his chest. “Come off it, Grant. You knew </span>
  <em>
    <span>exactly</span>
  </em>
  <span> what you were getting into when you first saw those runes. You don’t get to pretend to be a hero now just because </span>
  <em>
    <span>your girlfriend </span>
  </em>
  <span>found out what a bastard you really are.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He glares at her and clenches his fists, knocking her hand away. “She- that is, I-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Spare me, Grant. I have neither the time nor the energy for your little spiritual crisis, or whatever this is.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Daph, Violet is going to </span>
  <em>
    <span>murder her.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne levels him with a hard stare, seeing violent red flames behind her eyes and ignoring the thudding of her own heart. “You seem to be forgetting that </span>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t care what happens to Hermione Fucking Granger.</span>
  </em>
  <span> For both our sakes, don’t throw out your back by labouring under some delusion to the contrary any longer.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Devlin gapes at her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She took my sister,” she stresses, hearing a darkness to her own voice as she thinks about Astoria out there somewhere, scared and alone wherever Granger thought to stash her. She tells herself that Violet should bring Astoria back soon enough, but her heart still aches at the thought. “I hope you believe me when I say that Violet can draw and quarter the </span>
  <em>
    <span>whore </span>
  </em>
  <span>if she wants to, or burn her at the fucking stake, and if it gets me my sister back then I swear to you that I will happily watch and cheer as it happens.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Devlin shudders, visibly perturbed as he spins on his heel and storms out of the room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She sighs. It doesn’t hurt. Not really. She had never really expected him to stay with her anyway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There isn’t much time left,” Sebek-ari mutters to her father. “With Zabini not an option any longer, nor Malfoy...the boy, Kershaw, perhaps? Or, Granger might be better suited. She may be a Mudblood, but I’ve been inside her mind. She is a powerful witch. Her magical energy would surely be sufficient.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her father nods in enthusiastic agreement.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne’s blood boils as the two men join the ever-growing list of ‘Men Who Cannot Stop Complimenting Hermione Granger.’ She is quite aware that the context is in reference to being something of a human sacrifice, but her fists clench at her sides nonetheless.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Of course</span>
  </em>
  <span> Granger would be Sebek-ari’s perfect little human sacrifice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It would be a quick death, however. Not ideal for Hermione Granger, oh no. No, Hermione Granger deserves to suffer for hours, days even, before she goes to the beyond.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In any case, Daphne knows something that the men do not. Something critical. While they continue to obsess about their ridiculous plan to resurrect the Dark Lord, she has something far more personal in mind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The greatest kinds of magic always emerge from a place of love, after all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She twirls the ruby ring on her finger and thinks about her sister for a moment and her stomach flips about itself nervously.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her heart nearly bursts upon seeing her sister again. Dear, sweet, beautiful Astoria, looking none the worse for wear, as lovely as ever, if rather mournful. Much the way Mum used to look, just before the end.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Destiny, surely, brought Astoria back to her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When she pulls her sister closer for a hug, Astoria stiffens ever so slightly before relaxing into her embrace with a shaky exhale.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sebek-ari’s expression is resigned as he shuts his eyes, waiting for the knife to gleefully make its way across his throat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She wants to gloat, she really does. She has practiced her speech countless times and is rather proud of its eloquence. She would mention her mother, she would demand a reckoning about the child he never claimed, she would jeer about fucking him, she would explain in great detail how he is getting exactly what he deserves. She thinks, however, based on that final glint in his eyes, that he already understands well enough.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her father gapes at her, stunned, ever the idiot. She thinks about Mum bleeding to death at his hands and she slices his neck open with a smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After years of imagining their demise, watching them bleed is even more satisfying than she had ever imagined. Magic thrums violently in the air, in tune with every breath she takes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Father,” gasps Astoria, and for the briefest moment she feels a twinge in her heart.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She turns to her sister and steadies her breath, feeling something inside her break at the horror written upon Astoria’s lovely face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It had to be done, she tries to impart upon her dear sister. It </span>
  <em>
    <span>has</span>
  </em>
  <span> to.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Still my guardian angel, are you?” Astoria asks in a small, shaking voice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She desperately wants to nod. She wants to take her sister away somewhere and keep her safe from the world. She wants to peel the skin off of Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy and watch them burn with anyone else who has ever caused her harm, but-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Make sure to protect your sister. You’ll need her, Daphne, when the time is right.’</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This was the time her mother spoke of so many years ago. The time is right, and it hurts her somewhere more deeply than she has ever known.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ll understand soon. I love you, Tori.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll bring you back, I promise. You, me, and Mum, and we’ll be happy. We’ll be a family again, and the world will be ours. I love you, I love you, I love you.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria’s beautiful eyes widen for a moment before fluttering shut as Daphne reluctantly plunges the gleaming runeknife into her kind, gentle heart.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The blood-red ring on her finger glows brightly as the world explodes in fire around her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A booming, violent voice snarls ancient words in the swirling darkness. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>That ring. It is of the ancients, yes. You would attempt to bind me, yes?</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I would.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I have killed mortals for lesser offenses, yes, oh yes.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>We would become one.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You’ve spilt blood on these hallowed grounds, yes.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Two who would be your enemies, and one who was destined to be sacrificed.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You would bring back someone dear to you, yes.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And I would return far more souls to you.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Yes. We would become one, yes. The world would be ours, yes. We would raise an army of broken creatures, yes.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Yes.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A fiery red light emerges from the pit within the heptagram, enveloping her and it </span>
  <em>
    <span>burns,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and she nearly chokes on the charred ash casting upwards, swirling about the air around her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her hands shake as something hot and angry seeps into her skull, as if an invading molten liquid is jostling about in her brain, oozing and lathering her insides until it smothers every bit of her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The bones in her legs fracture violently and she shrieks in pain, but soon it feels as though the bone has been replaced with something more solid, wrenching into the place where the crack occurred and shifting her upwards. Something older, something much stronger.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her teeth crumble to dust and regrow into sharpened fangs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her fingernails, always so long and lovely, grow sharper and sharper, knives at the end of her new claws.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The tendons in her neck tense and pop as her muscles expand, and it feels as though she is being torn to shreds as something hard </span>
  <em>
    <span>sprouts</span>
  </em>
  <span> out of the sides of her head. She wails until her voice gives out, but her throat grows harder and the agony subsides. Each individual vertebrae snaps and shatters, rebuilding painfully into something stronger, something better. She grows stronger, she grows taller, she grows faster, and the remnants of pain swiftly slip away to nothingness.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eons pass before her eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She lives and dies a thousand times as her body cracks, crumples, and rebuilds itself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She takes a deep breath. The heavy ash in the air tastes nourishing, and the fire in her belly stirs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>We are one, yes.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>We are one.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The power courses through them and they call forth their guardians, statued souls banished to half-lives, dwelling throughout the City of the Dead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They look up at the sound of approaching footsteps.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not from an army of awakened lion-faced guardians, no, though they draw near. The footsteps are too weak, too quiet, more like a feeble, limping stumble. Very frail, very human, yes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The hobbled, pathetic little creature struggling towards them makes their black hearts beat violently in their chest and flames sprout to their fingertips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They look down on her and they have had millennia to imagine all the wicked things they will do to her, all the ways they will </span>
  <em>
    <span>desecrate</span>
  </em>
  <span> her, yes, and they smile viciously.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Their army awaits. They will reach into the depths of the beyond and drag out the ones they love. The world will bend before them, and the only thing standing in their way is the mangled, bleeding, broken form of Hermione Fucking Granger.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0027"><h2>27. Hermione 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Hermione can’t tell if it’s the gusts of magical energy spurting up from the ground or the severe blood loss that knocks her down, but suddenly she is on her knees and gasping agonizingly for air. The air is filled with foul magic. It smells like rotting sulphur, and the wind has faint hints of vibrant blues and greens as it swirls around the Necropolis.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She - isn’t entirely sure what to make of the situation. Her head is ringing and her hand pressed to her stomach isn’t doing much in the way of stemming the outpouring of blood from her stab wound, but those are the least of her problems.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She peeks out over the low wall with wide eyes at the field in front of her. The heptagram has flared to life, burning brightly with fire and blood. Wild shrieks reverberate in her head, resonating high above the sound of the wind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria is on the ground near the heptagram, bleeding, possibly dead, and her heart aches for her one time friend. </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘I know you’ve no reason to trust me, but I promise you’ll be safe,’</span>
  </em>
  <span> she had told Astoria the last time they spoke. A lie. A failure. Another on the list of friends she has failed to protect.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne, meanwhile, is - </span>
  <em>
    <span>changing,</span>
  </em>
  <span> as Hermione watches with dawning dread.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her arms shake weakly as she fights against the wind, holding herself against the wall and watching Daphne’s body twist and mangle itself into something new, something unnatural, something indescribably horrifying.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It - shouldn’t be possible, she thinks with a numb sense of nightmarish awe washing over her. None of the mythology books ever mentioned anything like this. It can’t be happening, it can’t be real, it can’t-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She blinks, seeing the bright, fiery heptagram seared behind her eyelids. She keeps her eyes shut for just a moment, overwhelmed by pain and exhaustion as she falls back, leaning heavily against the old, stone wall.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The lingering brightness of the heptagram fades from her vision.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After what might have been mere seconds or many hours, she suddenly feels something cold pressing against her lips. A flask, maybe, and she tastes a familiar metallic tang in her mouth. A blood replenishing potion?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her eyes flutter open as she swallows, and a sudden desperate warmth spreads throughout her body.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Draco.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s Draco pressing the flask to her lips with a concerned look on his pale, tightly drawn face. Her satchel is draped across his body, and she weakly presses a hand to his chest, grasping his shirt lightly to make sure he’s real and that he stays exactly where he is. She soaks him in and feels a tired, desperately grateful smile tugging at her lips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’d better drink up, Granger,” he says, tilting the flask upwards and pouring more liquid down her throat. “There you go. I’m awfully sore at you, you know. Telling me you love me and then hardly waiting a minute before racing off to get yourself killed? I haven’t even had a chance to say it back yet, you bint! Alright, one more sip now. You’re not allowed to die until I’ve given you an earful, is that clear?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He removes the flask from her lips and she can feel fresh blood roiling through her battered body. He immediately switches gears, casting a few quick healing spells that cascade over her body in waves of light. A cooling sensation spreads through her damaged throat, and little cuts and bruises on her face attempt to mend themselves. The wound on her stomach agonizingly seeks to close itself once again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She studies his face for a moment as he works, thinking he looks - different. His face is pale and drawn and focused, but that awful little sneer of his is completely gone, and as he sends waves of healing magic through her body she wonders how she could have ever thought that he hated her since their reunion that fateful night in Paris.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Draco,” she says weakly, leaning forward to rest her head against his chest, shivering slightly against him as a little burst of energy surges through her. It’s him, he’s real, and he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>there.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “I - had to protect you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I have to protect Harry, and Ginny, and the Weasleys, and my parents, but you too, now. Always you.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A right fine job you’re doing of that,” he says. She can almost hear him dramatically roll his eyes as he gently takes her hand in his, tapping his wand lightly along her bruised, bleeding wrists.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The rope wounds stitch themselves up, more or less. Her entire body still aches, but she inhales slowly, breathing in the scent of him. She is desperately grateful for him, yet even more desperately horrified at his presence. He - shouldn’t be here. Not here. Not now. “You’re one to talk. You should really be at the hospital.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He feels warm as he wraps her in his arms as the heavy, magical wind gusts violently around them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just imagine if I was,” he scoffs. “You’d be sitting here having a lie-in and missing out on all this fun.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She almost laughs slightly as she leans further into him, as close as she can get and relishing the warmth of his body against her. “You shouldn’t be here,” she sighs regretfully. “You - should have stayed away, somewhere safe.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I can’t protect you here, not now, not like this.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Blame Davies - I was happily napping a few hours ago. He woke me up, the bastard,” he offers her a little grin before his eyes turn earnest. “Hermione, is there a chance you have any tricks up your sleeve? Astoria - she fell, fucking Daphne. She- she might be dead, I don’t know. Daphne killed their father and Sebek-ari, and then stabbed Astoria. I can’t - it’s just the two of us against Daphne, who seems to be possessed by an ifrit and is raising an army of - I’m not sure what, those creepy fucking stone creatures. I was hoping you might have a brilliant idea?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She tries to look him in the eyes and revel in his presence, but it isn’t safe here, not at all, he shouldn’t be here. The world tilts on its axis in front of her and she thinks about the expression of pained astonishment on Astoria’s face as Daphne plunged the knife into her heart. She can’t seem to find the will or the energy to smile comfortingly for him, so she takes a shuddering breath instead and attempts to catalogue the situation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her entire body is throbbing miserably, and although the potion and healing spells helped somewhat, her knife wound is still threatening to start bleeding again. With her muscles still spontaneously spasming against her will from the after-effects of the Cruciatus Curse, she is not entirely sure she can manage to stand up for long on her own. Directly charging Daphne on their own in an attempt to destroy the ifrit does not seem like a reasonable option, to put it as mildly as possible. She cannot even begin to imagine what sorts of spells would be effective against that - </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It wasn’t even supposed to be possible for such a being to exist in the physical realm like this. Considering her physical state, and his, an apparition attempt might be a death sentence itself. Short of praying for the arrival of the aurors or an ICW task force, she is depressingly out of ideas.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Keep him safe. Keep him...</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I...don’t think I do, Draco,” she sighs, looking up at him heavily and feeling the crushing weight of her failure.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He still looks as pale and exhausted as when she left him at the hospital, but he has a fresh new cut on his cheek, maybe from a slicing hex. She reaches up to brush her fingers against the wound, resting her palm against his cheek, and he leans into her touch.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His hair is fairly flowing with the rising winds. He is gazing at her with something that looks like love in his eyes and she is sure it is a mirror of her own expression.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You shouldn’t have come here, Draco,” she whispers, shutting her eyes and leaning in to press her forehead against his. “Oh gods, you should have stayed somewhere safe.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hears a terrifying roar from below them, and it sounds like death.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hermione,” he whispers heavily, moving in to press his lips to hers for what might be the last time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He kisses her gently, so gently, resting his lips lightly against hers, and she breathes in the very essence of him. Moving her hand from his cheek to gently grasp the small hairs on the back of his neck, she suckles lightly on his bottom lip, needing to taste him. After a moment, he tenderly slips his tongue between her lips, so sweetly, so differently from their usual ferocity, and she shivers against him, trying her damndest to hold back a sob and thinking that it feels overwhelmingly like a farewell.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After a time, he pulls back, slumping heavily against the wall next to her. He smiles sadly and wraps his arm around her shoulder, pulling her in to lean against him. “Well Granger, if this is the end, then I refuse to just sit here quietly and wait. I’m going to sit here </span>
  <em>
    <span>loudly.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Firstly, I feel the need to brag that I beat up your apparent ex-boyfriend, the Professor. Secondly, I’m quite sure I’m much better looking than he is. Thirdly, before I die, please tell me my cock is bigger than his, will you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The wind roars around them, and the magic in the air feels oppressively heavy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She laughs somewhat, though it emerges from her throat as more of a sob as her body involuntarily shudders. She droops weakly into his embrace and shuts her eyes, head pounding. “Oh, he’s not so bad looking. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am</span>
  </em>
  <span> proud of you though.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you. I had a good teacher, you know. She fell in love with me for some reason, believe it or not. I’ll choose to ignore the fact that you neglected to respond to the third point concerning my private bits,” he replies with a smile flickering on his gaunt face. He squeezes her shoulder gently and pulls her in even closer before rummaging around in the front pocket of her satchel with his other hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Didn’t I ask you never to ferret about through my belongings? I believe it was a house rule,” she sighs tiredly, nestling further into him in an attempt to forestall the simultaneous ravaging cold of the wind with occasional bursts of heat from the dark flames erupting below them. There is a severe aching behind her eyes that refuses to dissipate.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t be daft! We’re not in France anymore, are we? That’d be nice if we were and this was all just a nightmare, eh? No, the house rules don’t apply in a Necropolis, Granger, you know that. Here, your Professor boyfriend asked me to give you this before I conked him. I hope I’m not romancing you on his behalf with it, am I?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looks at the small box in Draco’s hand and faintly thinks about Ron’s fated to remain unopened little black box back in her London office before tentatively reaching out to lift the lid. When she does, she blinks heavily, sure her exhausted eyes are playing tricks on her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The object inside the box is emitting a faint magical energy, though it’s hard to make it out with all the extra mana from the summoning soaking the air.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well?” he asks with a raised eyebrow that suggests he has a guess as to the object’s identity. “Is this thing what I think it is?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The item in his hand seems to look at her and smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Eye of Ra.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Everything suddenly clicks into place. The reason she had been left frustrated in her fruitless search for the artifact was because she had asked for help interpreting the runes from Devlin. Devlin, who has been in league with Daphne this entire time. He must have snuck into the Shrine of Sekhmet on his own and taken the Eye, replacing it with the fake and restoring some shoddy wards before returning with her later on.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She stares at it a moment longer and almost laughs before reaching for it, lifting it up and staring directly into the Eye itself. A spasm rocks her body, and she squeezes her eyes shut for several seconds until it passes before raising her eyes back up to Draco’s concerned face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Draco...I might actually have a plan.” She is surprised at how steady her voice sounds considering how entirely lacking in control of the situation she is at the moment. “It’s completely insane, and the odds of success are absurdly low, but...but there’s a chance it could work.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She explains what she is thinking to him quickly, and his eyes widen apprehensively. He starts shaking his head immediately, though he waits until she finishes speaking before interjecting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Granger, you undersold how </span>
  <em>
    <span>completely insane</span>
  </em>
  <span> this is! You don’t seriously want to do this?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shrugs, bracing herself for an attempt to stand up. The world tilts again as her exhausted eyes catch up to her movement. “I suppose I’d rather try to live if we can, yes. Unless you would prefer to wait here and hope that Roger got it together and called the aurors? We could die in each other’s arms, if you like - it’d be awfully romantic.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He rolls his eyes and huffs at her. “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am</span>
  </em>
  <span> romantic, but more so in the candlelit dinner followed by a proper shag sort of way. You’re absolutely barmy. You’re sure this is the best you can do? Davies, he - well, I’m not sure what his status is at the moment. Fuck. Fine, let’s do it. What’s the worst that can happen anyway? We’re both hobbled enough as it is. Alright, I’ll go confront Daphne, as you can hardly stand-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s the point, Draco. You’ll need to move quickly and quietly if this has any chance to work.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shakes his head sharply. “Absolutely not, it’s too dangerous. I - I don’t want you to go.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Draco...don’t you remember? ‘You can’t always get what you want,’” she smiles a little wistfully. Her hands are trembling and her heart is aching. “Didn’t a terribly wise bartender tell you that one time?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His lips twitch. “Hermione-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m going down there. You - you be careful, okay? And maybe we can have that romantic candlelit dinner when this is all over.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looks at her with fire in his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She leans in and touches her lips to his one last time, holding there and breathing him in for just a moment longer before pressing a hand on his chest and shoving him away. “And a proper shag as well, of course. Now, go.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Be careful be careful be careful oh gods-</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did I mention that I love you?” he offers with a half-smile on his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You didn’t...but I know it.” She returns his smile sadly, reflecting on the fact that she </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> know it for far too long, and committing the lines of his face to memory before turning away. She forces herself to her feet, tears her eyes from his, and begins the slow, painful trudge down the final set of stairs in order to greet Daphne Greengrass and her strange, stone army.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She keeps Draco’s parting smile with her in her heart.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The old, foul magic hangs powerfully in the air, so thick and heavy that with every step it feels like she is wading waist-deep through a muddy swamp.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her body aches, with each step sending an agonizing, shooting pain up from the nerves of her feet to the very tip of her head, twitching through her hands along the way. The violent winds still gust about, heavy with magic, but she forges onwards.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Any more advice for me, Ron?” she whispers into the night air. “Or are you planning on resuming your duties of quietly judging me from the safety of my own head?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t respond, although - she might be imagining it, but she thinks she can still feel him there, lingering in the All Hallow’s Eve air with the other spirits, all watching to see what happens next.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She stumbles onto the grassy field and almost collapses immediately as a hot, fiery breath of air rushes over her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hermione Granger,” greets the deformed Daphne Greengrass in a booming voice. It almost sounds like her usual snotty voice, but with an underlying secondary sound at a much lower, growling pitch. It is horribly disconcerting. Daphne’s face maneuvers into something like a smile, revealing layers of sharp, serrated teeth. “You have a death wish, yes? Or rather you think you can outsmart </span>
  <em>
    <span>us,</span>
  </em>
  <span> yes? We have waited millenia for this very day, oh yes, and we will not be stopped by the likes of </span>
  <em>
    <span>you.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her legs shake as she watches Daphne warily, though clearly the monstrous thing in front of her is no longer Daphne - not the one she has known since her school days, at any rate. This Daphne is somehow conjoined with the demon, both physically and mentally, and Hermione shudders to think of the implications of such horrifyingly dark magic.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The wind picks up and the fire around her bursts upwards from cracks in the earth. She grunts and falls to her knees, already having been struggling from her injuries and the nearly overwhelming pressure of the magical energies permeating the air.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Pathetic human,” laughs the demon. “Bring her to me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At that command, two lion-faced gargoyles, which had been merely eerily warm statues when she had last seen them, approach from either side of her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She reaches for her wand, but before she can fully draw it, the sentient gargoyles seize her roughly by the arms and her only method of defense against the demon clatters to the ground. The statues grip her tightly with arms carved from unyielding ivory, and she groans as her brief attempt to struggle against their grasp is entirely futile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As they mercilessly drag her forward, too quickly for her to even attempt to take a step as her toes drag along the ground, she runs through her options, few as they are. She almost laughs in terror at herself for considering her martial skills, as an image of herself attempting to overcome her inability to stand upright on her own in order to punch the ten-foot tall otherworldly demon in the jaw emerges in her mind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Resignedly, she knows that there is only one path in front of her, and she steels her mind as best she can while hoping that Daphne doesn’t get bored of her immediately and kill her on the spot.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The gargoyles come to a stop and jerk her upright before shoving her to the ground in front of the remnants of Daphne Greengrass. She nearly chokes on the rotten sulphuric smell emanating from the demon, and she forces herself to look up into Daphne’s face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It really does appear as though Daphne has fused with the ifrit. Her thickened skin is a dark, reddish hide etched with unidentifiable glowing runes. She has magically grown several feet, now towering over Hermione, and her arms and legs are nearly bulging with strong muscles, commanding what look like violent claws instead of hands and feet. Small, dark horns have begun to emerge from the girl’s head, curling upwards, and her formerly attractive face has contorted into something feral and vicious. Her eyes are a dark and terrifying red, and when she exhales, ash and smoke expel into the air.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione can’t help but shiver in fear at the horror in front of her, but she somehow forces herself to hold Daphne’s gaze, staring directly into those blood-red eyes and fighting the urge to cry out in absolute terror.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne smiles a horrible smile again as she takes a languid step forward, revealing those awful, gnashing rows of sharp yellow teeth. Hermione’s panicked brain irrationally thinks about dentistry for a moment, and a deep, nearly consuming need to curl up in her mother’s arms almost overwhelms her. “Already on your knees, mortal. As you should be, yes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her body is certainly too pained and terrified to defiantly jump to her feet, but she somehow manages to override the semi-paralysis of her tightened muscles and awkwardly shifts her weight, lifting herself upwards off the ground. She can hardly stand upright, heavily favoring her left side as the knife wound has reopened yet again at the harsh treatment of the gargoyles, but the act itself almost makes her feel a little more in control.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The nasty smile doesn’t fade from the demon’s face as it lets out a snort. The hot, smoky air expelled from its nose feels as though it is burning away her skin as it washes over her. “As we expected. We have long imagined your painful death, Hermione Granger. We have been plotting it for some time, dreaming of it daily, yes, oh yes. Are you here as an ambassador then? Here to grovel on behalf of humanity, yes?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shakes her head slowly, forcing herself to maintain eye contact despite a nearly overwhelming need to look around the Necropolis for Draco. She cannot even begin to fathom Daphne’s apparently deep-seated, murderous hatred for her. They had never been friendly at school, true, but this venomous malice...It doesn’t make sense, it just doesn’t, and her brain feels almost broken as it attempts to process Daphne’s words.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The demon hardly looks concerned at her response, taking another step forward until it is close enough to reach out and snap her neck with ease. When it speaks, its words are hot and thunderous. “What, then, Hermione Granger?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A bargain,” she says, coughing through the ash she cannot help but breathe into her lungs. “With Daphne. Not with </span>
  <em>
    <span>you.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The demon begins to laugh slowly, an evil, horrifying howl that puts Violet Evilian’s maniacal shrieking to shame. It is worse by far than even Bellatrix Lestrange’s gleeful cackling which continually haunts her nightmares. On and on the demon chuckles growlingly, and Hermione can only hope it stays distracted and carries on forever. The waves of heat and the pungent odors expulsing from the demon’s mouth are nearly overwhelming. Her body shudders and her teeth clatter, senses entirely overwhelmed, but she somehow manages to stay on her feet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eventually, the noise subsides, and the demon reaches a powerful hand down to grab her by the shirt collar and jerk her forward until they are mere inches away. Its hot breath on her face is making her sweat. She has to crane her neck to see Daphne’s mangled face above her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> Daphne,” it tells her. “And we do not bargain, no.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have the Eye of Ra,” she gasps desperately, voice somewhat muted in the smoky air. She reaches for a chain around her neck and pulls it out, carefully displaying the artifact which glimmers in the firelight. “You ought to know of it, demon. Daphne, too, as I’m sure Devlin spoke of it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> Daphne,” it repeats, its smile fading into something stern.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s a powerful weapon. I’ll use it against you now, or we can make a bargain. I’ll give it to you, Daphne, if you unbind this </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing,</span>
  </em>
  <span> this demon. The Eye is powerful - more powerful than this foul creature, and you won’t have to share that power with anyone. Daphne, please, if you’re still in there-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In a movement so swift she can hardly track it, the demon snatches the necklace, ripping it right off her neck and tossing it carelessly to the side. She watches in horror as the monster’s claw moves from her collar to her throat and, with inhuman, demonic strength, slowly lifts her into the air.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She gasps desperately for breath as the demon’s grip tightens, scratching with her fingernails ineffectively against the demon’s thick skin and legs flailing hopelessly in the air, kicking at nothing. She continues to rise helplessly in the air until the demon holds her at its eye level, high in the air not more than an inch away from its face, and its mouth morphs into a sneer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her skin feels as though it is burning, flaking away to ashes under the demon’s grasp, and her lungs begin to prickle at the lack of oxygen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“We. Are. Daphne.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The demon’s grip tightens. Dark spots sprout and dart along the edge of her vision. She can feel blood from the knife wound at her side continuing to seep out of her, dripping it’s way down her leg before beginning a long fall through the air to the ground.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’ve no need of your little trinkets. We are not here for </span>
  <em>
    <span>power,</span>
  </em>
  <span> no,” it snarls at her, voice so loud that it seems to be reverberating through the entire Necropolis. “We are not like </span>
  <em>
    <span>them,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> it explains as it gestures towards the corpses of Gideon Greengrass and Sebek-ari without sparing them a glance.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She chokes and bats at the demon’s claw around her throat desperately, and to no avail as her blood pulses desperately, screamingly throughout her entire body.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The demon appears to regard her thoughtfully. “We had so many little plans involving a slow, violent demise for you, Hermione Granger, yes, oh yes, we did. Yet, you seem to have no regard for your physical well-being. Odd, for a human, though it gives us an idea, yes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The demon lifts her even higher in the air and she is sure the blood vessels behind her eyes have burst as she continues struggling, choking against the demon’s grasp. Her hands are shaking and she is hot and sweaty yet cold and fading and this might be the end-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, yes. We wanted to carve away your skin, but instead we’ll carve away </span>
  <em>
    <span>your mind.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Yes. Yes, we will. Be honored, Hermione Granger. We do this not for power, no, but for love, and your husk will be the first to know our greatness.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Unable to even begin deciphering the meaning behind any of those words, the demon suddenly tosses her to the ground. She lands with a painful thud, shoulder wrenching in its socket and desperately clutching at her battered throat as she sucks in a scratchy breath of air. She tries to scuttle away from the creature, but glancing around wildly she realizes with exhausted, all-consuming dread that she is utterly trapped.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne had dropped her directly inside the summoning heptagram, surrounded by walls of fire, barely clinging to consciousness and staring up into the murderous red eyes of the grinning ifrit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The demon grins maliciously and starts to speak in a low, gravelly voice. Ancient words, demonic words that make the air around her quake and her eardrums shatter. The fire surrounding her burns so brightly that she shuts her eyes, hoping desperately that she has given Draco enough time, and despairing at the thought that she will never see his face or be held in his arms ever again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She curls as tightly as she can upon herself and lets out a pained sob, clutching her hands to her ears in an attempt to drown out the awful high-pitched ringing resounding through the air before it breaks her. She thinks she feels blood leaking from her ears through her fingers even as tears stream from her eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She feels the awful, ancient magic enveloping her, sinking into her body as if the demon has reached through her body to wrench out her very soul, and in her weakened state she can hardly summon any energy to fight it off. She feels herself slipping away, going somewhere, getting smaller as her consciousness seems to be getting shoved aside into a little corner in the back of her mind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She tries to lift her arms and fight, but they refuse to cooperate. She tries to stand up, but her body indicates that it is not taking orders from her any longer. She desperately resorts to attempting to erect an occlumency shield, and it feels unsteady but it momentarily stalls her mental retreat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A new presence seems to be emerging in her mind, taking up the space that Hermione used to occupy. It feels like a different form of suffocation, different from the demon’s grasp at her throat as it grows larger and larger, and it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong</span>
  </em>
  <span> but it smiles menacingly at her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As it moves towards her, it smashes into the hasty mental wall she has constructed and seems to blink at it curiously before snarling at her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Stop that.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She isn’t sure how, as she is unable to shake her head or move her mouth, but she somehow manages to indicate to the </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing</span>
  </em>
  <span> in her mind that she is certainly not going to drop her defenses and let it order her around in her own consciousness.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You should go now,</span>
  </em>
  <span> it tells her, not very gently. </span>
  <em>
    <span>We don’t want you here.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Going sounds nice, actually. She really is rather tired, but - well, where would she go? Besides, she was supposed to have been doing something, wasn’t she?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Go,</span>
  </em>
  <span> the darkly ethereal voice advises her again. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You shouldn’t be here.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>But...I live here,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she offers with some amount of confusion, as she suddenly feels like an intruder and is somewhat unclear about any reasons why she would want to stay. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t I?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>No you don’t,</span>
  </em>
  <span> replies the voice, and she vaguely thinks it sounds a little like an old friend of hers, but different. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You shouldn’t be here. You don’t belong here. Not anymore.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>But, I need to...</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She isn’t quite sure what exactly she needs to do, but there is an image of blond hair attached to a stupid, smirking, wonderful, lovely face that seems to remind her that she needs to stay exactly where she is, else he’ll be extremely irritated with her for leaving again without a proper farewell. She isn’t entirely sure why, but she doesn’t want that, and instead of evaporating altogether she decides to stay, trapped in the little corner of her mind even though it hurts as the new presence tries to snuff her out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She fortifies herself in her suffocatingly small hideout, and the presence tries to break through another few times before sighing and turning its attention elsewhere. It has other things to do, it acknowledges, and decides to deal with her later.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her body’s eyes open and gaze around in wonder. Happiness floods into the space in her brain that processes emotions as the beautiful ifrit appears in her field of vision, smiling lovingly at her. The presence in her consciousness smiles back with her body’s mouth, and Hermione is suddenly distressingly aware of the fact that she is a passenger in her own body. Something - or </span>
  <em>
    <span>someone</span>
  </em>
  <span> else is entirely in charge now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You did it, Daphne,” her voice says, words sounding somewhat garbled to the sliver of Hermione remaining within her own mind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The demon’s face contorts with heavy emotions, a single bloody tear leaking out of its vicious eye.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I did. I brought you back. Just as I promised I would, Mother.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A/N: My intent is to post the final 3 chapters together this Thursday, fear not!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0028"><h2>28. Draco 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Helplessness is a feeling with which Draco has become intimately familiar with over the course of his life. His bungling attempts at being an assassin during his sixth year at Hogwarts while the Dark Lord took up residence at his home. Hermione, twitching about and screaming on the floor of his ancestral home while he stood there thoroughly unable to take any action and pathetically tried his best to avoid eye contact with her. His exile in France, listlessly floating from pub to pub, bed to bed, with no home and no purpose.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He has never felt more helpless in his life than watching Hermione slowly trudge her way towards certain death.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, not entirely certain, he tries to remind himself. The odds are highly probable, at best, however. If he were more of a gambling man, he would have a difficult time placing money on their survival, except for the fact that Hermione had worn a shockingly confident face as she relayed her absurd plan to him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He is nearly sure that she had been faking it for his benefit, and her own. His heart shatters in his chest as he helplessly watches her slowly, tremblingly make her way down the steps towards whatever the fuck Daphne has become.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shudders, seeing those creepy fucking gargoyle statues suddenly emerging from the shadows, and he waits.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His lips are still warm from her hurried final kiss.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Daphne The Demon focuses her attention entirely on Hermione and the gargoyle army closes in around her, he tries to ignore his desperately overwhelming concern for her well-being and makes his move. He hustles along, staying low and using the balcony wall as cover before coming to a set of stairs on the other side of Daphne, out of her line of sight unless she turns her head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He quickly makes his way towards Astoria, lying dead on the ground behind her sister.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have the Eye of Ra,” he thinks he hears Hermione cry out, but the wind is howling and he cannot be quite sure. He stumbles and slides to the ground at Astoria’s side.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“It’s completely insane, and the odds of success are absurdly low, but...but there’s a chance it could work. It’s not a very complicated plan,” she admitted in a rush, face pale, eyes tired, and nearly stumbling over her own words. “I’ll go down there and offer her the Eye of Ra. The one I found in the Shrine was a fake - one of those cheap necklaces they sell by the dozen at the bazaar. It’s still here, in my satchel. If we offer her the fake Eye, it might distract her long enough to try and use the real one to - well, to heal Astoria. She might still be alive, right? The healing powers of the Eye - some people think it’s a weapon, but I don’t, I never have. I believe it has an incredibly potent healing capacity. It - could work.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He wanted to interrupt and tell her that of course he remembers her thesis because he had happily listened to her talk about it with a studious intensity in her eyes for hours back in France. He wanted to ask how the fucking thing works, but she didn’t pause for even a moment. Her eyes were bright and fiery and maybe even loving as she looked at him, a far cry from how cold she used to pretend to be.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“The Eye is meant to respond to the yearnings of whoever holds onto its power. It should - well, there are no recorded incantations to activate it, it should just - work. Theoretically. Obviously no one has been able to test it in thousands of years. But - look, blood magic is very particular. If my theory is correct, since Astoria’s blood was used for the summoning, she will be the one with true power over the ifrit. It would be keyed to her own blood rather than Daphne’s, whose hold may be diluted somewhat even though they are sisters. It-” she sighed wearily. “That’s the best and, frankly, only plan I’ve got, Draco.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had wanted to offer to apparate them both the fuck out of there and perhaps go spend a nice, relaxing weekend at a spa and let Future Hermione and Future Draco figure out a solution to this whole ifrit crisis. Then again, with her being in a rather bloody and exhausted state, and himself not much better, he was not entirely sure either of them would even have the capacity for apparition at this point.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ultimately, despite the unsettlingly cold feeling curdling in his gut, he had agreed to the plan which involved Hermione, the woman who loves him for some unfathomable reason, marching directly into the clutches of a literal death demon. His heart feels cracked, as though a great chasm is running straight through the middle of it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Feeling desperately ill as he clings to Astoria’s body, her pale face contorted in agony, he clutches her tightly to his chest. He looks for any sign of life - a stuttered breath, a pulse, a smile, anything. A sharp guilty feeling nearly overrides his fear as he gazes upon her lifeless body and thinks that if he would have just stayed out of this entire thing, then perhaps she would still be alive. She would still have warm, vibrant eyes and a happy, loving smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He glances up at the sound of a loud growl and gapes in horror as the demon grasps Hermione by the throat and impossibly lifts her high in the air. He almost forgets to breathe himself as he watches her struggling for air, but he wrenches his gaze away and turns desperately to his wife, lying dead on the ground.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have no idea how this fucking thing is supposed to work,” he mutters to nobody, trying desperately to ignore the terrifying noises coming from Hermione’s direction as he pulls poor Astoria’s body even closer to him and reaches into his pocket for the Eye of Ra. He can feel the magical energy thrumming through his palm, making his entire body tingle lightly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her beautiful face is pale, cold, and dead, and his heart aches as he thinks that even more of the blame has to rest upon his shoulders. She had wanted to come to the Necropolis, but he could have - he </span>
  <em>
    <span>should have</span>
  </em>
  <span> stopped her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He leans down to press a shaky, apologetic kiss to her forehead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The ground quakes as the demon </span>
  <em>
    <span>growls.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck,” he breathes again, staring at the Eye. Hermione had said that it was supposed to listen to his commands. Theoretically. Fucking theoretically. Would it even work at all if Astoria is dead? He can feel sharp tears stinging at his eyes as he stares at the thing, still hearing horrible noises from Hermione’s direction. “Please, help me,” he whispers to it desperately. “Please. I have to save Astoria, and I have to help Hermione. Please help.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Eye pulsates with magic and it might be the desperate desire to cling to any hope he can find, but for a moment it almost seems to actually be looking at him through its strange pupil.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The thrumming through his palm grows stronger, and the artifact emits something of a faint hum, getting louder and louder over the sounds of the howling wind and the growling ifrit, and he doesn’t look over again but the image of Hermione dangling in the air held up only by the claw squeezing her neck slicing through his entire consciousness as though eating him alive.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he tries to stay focused, the strange Eye suddenly starts to rise into the air, slowly, as if a young first-year student is practicing a basic levitation spell.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It emits a faint glow as it floats through the air, a white light growing ever brighter as it hovers. Slowly, too slowly, it floats along until it is resting directly above Astoria’s heart.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hears the fire roaring to a fever pitch behind him and feels the oppressive heat of the flames at his back as he clutches Astoria tightly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he watches in desperate wonder, the Eye shines blindingly bright for a moment before shimmering in the air, floating down to rest upon Astoria’s chest before humming, resonating at a strange magical frequency that permeates through the air.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For just a moment, Astoria’s body flickers lightly, a bright beacon in the darkness before it abruptly fades away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Eye falls listlessly onto her body, and he stares at it helplessly. When he picks it up, it feels - empty, as though devoid entirely of magical energy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before he can even begin to theorize what may have just occured, he is abruptly aware of a disturbing silence around him. The sudden absence of the violent heat of the roaring flames makes his heart shiver, and he braces himself, gently laying Astoria’s still cold body to the ground and rising up off his knees.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something had happened. Something - might happen. Maybe.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She doesn’t move. She doesn’t gasp for breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nothing is happening, and he might be royally fucked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If it isn’t Draco Malfoy, yessss,” comes a loud, deep, laughing voice from behind him that shakes him right down to the marrow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He might be royally fucked, indeed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His insides turn to jelly as he turns, gaping at the monstrosity that Daphne has become now that he is closer. She has grown into some sort of terrifying amalgamation of the worst parts of herself with the most horrifying parts of the demon creature. Her typical sneer has become even more pronounced and menacing, displaying layers of jagged teeth and entirely putting his own patented sneer to shame.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Still alive, you are. Ever the cockroach, yes. Come to join our little party, have you?” Her voice is painful to his ears, growling and layered and deadly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His legs feel as though they might collapse from under him, but suddenly his heart skips a beat as he sees Hermione, alive and standing there by Daphne’s side within the heptagram, its fires having simmered somewhat. He nearly weeps as he gazes at her, desperately breathing in the fact that she is </span>
  <em>
    <span>alive.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And yet, something in his mind tells him to pause and think. He peers at her more closely, noting that she is still wounded, with the gash on her side having reopened, and new burns and bruises have sprouted upon her neck. To his astonishment, she doesn’t appear to be in any actual pain. When she left to approach Daphne for the execution of their desperate plan, she had been faintly limping, hardly able to hold up her own bodyweight. Now, however, her posture is erect, her face calm, and she is regarding him somewhat apathetically.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something is wrong.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something is very, very wrong.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hermione,” he says quietly, still watching her warily and unable to tear his eyes away even as his hand moves slowly to grip his wand. His unease is rankled at the oddly vacant expression on her face. “Are you alright?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne chuckles darkly, and he instantly feels an urge to vomit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione, meanwhile, cocks her head at him almost curiously. Her face is betraying no emotion, but it is very different from all those times she would use occlumency to hide her feelings, shoving them behind her mental fortifications as she would brace herself for withstanding flirtatious conversations with him, or to withhold herself from castrating him for reordering her books. She was never quite good enough at it to fool him completely, not really, as her little eye rolls and twitches almost always gave her away. No, this is something different, something worse, and it’s almost like she isn’t-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hermione isn’t here anymore,” she replies in Hermione’s voice, smiling slightly with Hermione’s lips, and his heart sinks into his stomach and he thinks he might actually vomit it right back up as the sounds of Daphne The Demon’s growing laughter reverberates deafeningly in his skull.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It can’t be true, it </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> be. She </span>
  <em>
    <span>has</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be in there somewhere, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>feels</span>
  </em>
  <span> it. She would be far too obnoxiously stubborn to get banished from her own precious brain, for Merlin’s sake. She has to be there, likely throwing a fit at whatever this thing is that has invaded her body for getting everything so very disorganized.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We realize, Draco, that you never received our mother’s permission for marrying our dear sister. Perhaps you’d like the opportunity to do so now, yes?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wrenches his gaze away from Not-Hermione and snaps his attention to Daphne, not sure what the bloody hell she is going on about and entirely at a loss for how this plan was supposed to end, short of hoping for some sort of miracle. The sudden use of plurality has him less confused than the actual content of Daphne’s words.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>killed</span>
  </em>
  <span> your dear sister, Daphne. My </span>
  <em>
    <span>wife,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> he growls, unsure of the wisdom at attempting to appeal to the emotional side of a hybrid demon creature. He and Daphne never got along, but he had always been sure that she loved Astoria dearly. It had been something he was so entirely sure about that he never spared it a second thought, right up until he watched her plunge a knife into his wife’s heart.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The demon grins maliciously from high above him and he can feel himself tremble.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You loved her though, I hope,” Not-Hermione states, and he cringes at the words coming from </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span> mouth. “Didn’t you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At his hesitation, Daphne laughs again, thunderous and horrifying. “Oh, he didn’t, no, no. He could never love anyone aside from himself, no.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stares at Not-Hermione’s blank face and wishes the real her would come back to him and tell him how to make all of this right. He thinks about her little half-smiles and her eyes occasionally softening towards him and her lips warm against his. Seeing her as a walking vessel for </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span> makes him miss her so acutely, so painfully, far more than when they separated for a time after France because now he doesn’t know if he’ll ever see her real face again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well,” says Not-Hermione sternly. “I should very much like to see Astoria again, Daphne. I don’t expect there is much cause for concern should she arise as a widow.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shakes his head slowly, otherwise rooted to the spot with fear at the thought of having his throat sliced open like Sebek-ari or Gideon Greengrass. He briefly wonders at what sort of thrall could be powerful enough to squash out Hermione’s existence in her own body, yet would simultaneously wish to see his wife ‘again.’ He almost yearns for that time not even half an hour ago when they thought the plan was simply to resurrect Lord Voldemort rather than whatever horrible creature Daphne has summoned into existence.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He thinks if he manages to somehow survive this, which seems increasingly unlikely as every second ticks by, that Daphne’s horrible demonic grin and Hermione’s vacant eyes will supersede the Dark Lord with his man-eating pet snake in his worst nightmares.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not-Hermione watches serenely as Daphne takes a menacing step forward, and the ground quakes beneath her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hermione - I know you’re in there,” he says shakily, hoping that if he puts the thought out into the universe he might be able to make it true through sheer force of will. “Please...”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her eyes remain passive as the demon beside her roars with laughter, taking another step forward through the wall of fire. As Daphne passes through the boundary, the winds begin to howl again, violent and heavy with magic.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She can’t save your skin this time, Draco, no,” Daphne says, blood-red eyes twinkling malevolently in the light of the flickering flames. “The filthy </span>
  <em>
    <span>whore</span>
  </em>
  <span> Hermione Granger is gone forever. Though we do hope a part of her is still in there, don’t we? Yesss, so she can watch you suffer your just punishment, yes we do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He lets out a shaky exhale as Daphne takes another step closer, so close that he can feel the fiery heat of her breath on his face. She raises a clawed fist high in the air, surely meaning to pulverize him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hermione, please,” he gasps again desperately in what feels like one of his final moments as he yanks out his wand. Her eyes almost seem to twitch slightly and he clings to the thought that she’s there, and she hears him. “You can’t be gone, I need you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne slashes her claw downwards, and he hardly manages to dive to the ground and toss a shielding charm up in front of his face before she makes impact. He gasps for breath, feeling weak and nearly spent as her claw clanks off his hastily cast shield with a loud ringing sound.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His entire body shudders at the impact and he feels the shield dissolve as Daphne hisses angrily at him. He feels almost drained of his own magic as the shield fades away into nothingness in front of his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hermione!” he cries out with a hitched gasp of a breath as he tries to scuttle away from the enraged demon.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Daphne bears down upon him once more, he is too unsteady for another shield as an attempt to prolong the inevitable. Just as he saw her do to Hermione, she reaches forward and grasps him by the throat with her claw.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He flails weakly as she jerks him up in the air and growls at him, yanking him close to her face and grinning that awful, horrifying sneer of hers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He desperately raises his wand around her fist and thinks that at the very least he might be able to put one of her eyes out, but she shakes him so hard that he loses his grip. His wand and his final hope for survival crash to the ground as his brain feels as though it’s bouncing off his skull.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As she slowly takes a deep breath, surely intending to shower him in a blast of fire until he turns to ash in what is sure to be a painful death, he casts one more desperate, longing look at Hermione. Unstoppable tears are brimming his eyes but he can still see her there, and just for a moment he sees </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span> there again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“D-Draco-!” she whispers in a quiet gasp, eyes wide and frightened and making his heart stutter in his chest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne pauses, grasp weakening slightly, and looks over with a frown.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He gasps for air and stares desperately at the woman he loves.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Under Daphne’s gaze, Not-Hermione shakes her head, as if to clear it of a headache. Her face goes vacant and cold. She is once again enthralled, but he swears he sees a single tear escape her expressionless eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He chokes in Daphne’s tightened grasp, braces himself for the flames, and is waiting hopelessly for the end when suddenly-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The flaming heptagram is engulfed in a searingly bright white light and extinguishes itself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still struggling for the meagerest scraps of air, he and Daphne both glance around in confusion for the source of this new magic.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Put my husband down, Daphne.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His eyes widen, stunned to hear the strangely ethereal voice of his previously dead wife resonate through the air.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne gapes at Astoria, slowly approaching them with a serene look on her face, and after a moment she complies, gently placing him back on solid earth and removing her claw from his throat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stares at Astoria, utterly astonished as he desperately sucks in a breath of air.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It - worked?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Eye of Ra worked?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione had been right. Of course she had been right.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He watches Astoria warily, looking for any sign that she has become some sort of thrall like Hermione, body and mind taken over by something else. She looks calm and somewhat colder than usual, but her eyes are wide and alive and still very much </span>
  <em>
    <span>Astoria.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wisps of smoke from the extinguished fire float through the air as the wind dies down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he struggles to catch his breath, he thinks he hears the sound of spells being fired off somewhere in the distance, but he keeps his focus steadily on his eerily tranquil wife.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Astoria...” he whispers quietly, still entirely in awe at her reanimation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She observes him for a moment before turning to Not-Hermione. The two women look at each other closely, and for a moment he lets himself cling to a hope that maybe, somehow, Astoria can bring her back-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello, Mother,” Astoria says quietly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco blinks, dumbstruck as he looks towards Not-Hermione.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione’s face smiles, but it’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span> smile, it’s something different, something wrong, and it hurts to look at.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Astoria, darling,” says Hermione’s voice as she takes several swift steps forward and wraps Astoria in a tight embrace. “You sweet, precious thing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria gently raises her arms, resting them upon Hermione’s - no, </span>
  <em>
    <span>her mother’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> - back with a little sigh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His lungs nearly sink into his stomach as though weighed down by a boulder. His fucking tasks always only seem to get more and more complicated. Sure, he managed to spy on the Greengrasses only to nearly get poisoned to death. Sure, he managed to find Hermione, but now she’s playing host to the spirit of his dead mother-in-law. Sure, the fabled Eye of Ra worked and Astoria is alive, but now he has to convince his wife to somehow banish her own mother from this realm in order to return her husband’s lover to the land of the living.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He is most definitely royally fucked.</span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0029"><h2>29. Astoria 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Astoria feels rather odd as she looks around the Necropolis.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne had stabbed her. She had died. And yet, here she stands, quite alive while an apparent battle is being waged all around and within her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There is a power in her now. Something new, yet something very old. It is neither good nor evil, it simply </span>
  <em>
    <span>is,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and she has not yet decided what to do with it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Like a mystical Eye, it sees - everything. It sees the entirely one-sided battle taking place between the demon in front of her and the two overmatched humans. Further, it sees a group of Egyptian aurors making their way into the Necropolis, easily taking out a handful of human guards before being surprised by the appearance of stone guardians wearing the heads of lions. Further still, it sees spirits in the void watching, waiting to see if they’ll be forcibly wrenched from their resting places or left in peace.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The magic thrums within her as she tells the army of gargoyles to stop - for now, at least, and they return to unmoving stone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stopping her sister from murdering her husband seems like a prudent choice until she decides what to do, when her attention is caught by the sight of Hermione Granger, body battered yet standing tall.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It is not </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> Hermione Granger, however, as the strange new power within her immediately knows, or has always known. It is somewhat odd to see her mother again, after all this time, though she supposes coming back from the dead is not so uncommon as it seems.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello, Mother,” she says quietly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She is grateful that she had been able to return to her own body, as seeing her mother stuffed into a Hermione Granger suit is fairly off-putting. It is wrong, really, she is sure of that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The power inside her shifts as her mother rushes forward and wraps her in an embrace.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She frowns deeply, sensing that her mother, newly returned to the physical realm and somewhat scared, could use a bit of comfort.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It - still feels wrong.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The power in her shrugs and tells her that she could let it be, if she wanted to.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Astoria, darling,” cries Hermione’s voice. “You sweet, precious thing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione is there, she can tell. A small part of her, hardly a sliver, is still there, just waiting for the opportunity to come back to herself - and to Draco.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But then - where would her mother go?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She already knows the answer, and there really was no need to ponder the question in the first place.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne, quite a bit taller than when she last laid eyes on her, shifts closer and watches the reunion with wide, mournful red eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Astoria,” she says in a quiet growl. “We - we are sorry. We love you. We were to bring you back, yes, we were.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She knows it is true, though she would have come back </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong,</span>
  </em>
  <span> just like her mother. Instead, somehow, Draco had managed to drag her back from the clutches of death, all while expecting to die himself. Hermione, too, had been prepared to die to stop this wrong </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing</span>
  </em>
  <span> from existing in the world.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria vaguely thinks that it may have been better for Hermione to die altogether than to be trapped, barely conscious and clinging to sanity within her own mind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The power inside of her shrugs and says that she could make Hermione’s death a reality, should she desire to.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Or, not.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Astoria,” whispers Draco to her right.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After holding onto her mother for a moment longer, she extricates herself from the embrace and turns her eyes towards her wayward husband.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looks rather run down, the poor thing. Blood is dripping out of cuts on his face and leg. Burns and bruises dot along his throat. His eyes look wide, though somewhat sunken and tired. He is a far cry from the handsome lad who she used to happily watch soar through the air during quidditch games, yet he still manages to tug at her heart just as he always has.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She thinks he looks sad and offers him a slight smile, which he gapes at and seems to drink in like a man on the verge of dying from thirst.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She thinks that perhaps she should help him. It would be fair, after all. Despite the sham their marriage had turned out to be, she had tried to poison him to death, while he had nearly sacrificed himself to bring her back to life.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then again, he had surely wronged her far more times than she had wronged him, and the power inside her suggests that she could revenge herself upon him should she desire to.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Or, not.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It is her choice. She thinks about choices. She thinks about how she chose to marry Draco, despite that niggling little suspicion lingering in the back of her mind that he did not love her the same way she loved him. She thinks about how she chose to befriend Hermione, despite the funny feelings she had about the woman’s sincerity. She thinks about how she chose to come back to Daphne in an effort to help Hermione and Draco, despite the fact that she had felt some concern about the growing intensity of Daphne’s involvement with the ritual planning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She thinks about Hermione, with her cold gazes and her sharp glances and her not quite fake friendship. She thinks about Hermione, with heartbroken eyes, saving her life and squeezing her hand comfortingly as they drove away from the Estate. She thinks about Hermione, in the hotel room promising to keep her safe and meaning it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She thinks about Draco, betraying her far more deeply than she ever could ever have imagined was possible. She thinks about Draco, holding her in his arms and asking for her promise to stay safe. She thinks about Draco, gently pressing a kiss to her forehead before breathing life into her once again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She thinks about Daphne, playing with her hair and calling her lovely, promising to protect her. She thinks about Daphne, coldly slashing the life out of her fathers. She thinks about Daphne, madness dancing behind her eyes before plunging a knife into her dear sister’s chest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She thinks about her mother, raising a daughter to be slaughtered in order to save herself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It really is not such a difficult decision after all, she supposes, after a time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looks at her mother, who has a light smile planted upon Hermione’s face and tears brimming her eyes. “Mum,” she says quietly. “I love you - so much. I’m glad to be able to see you one last time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The eyes on Hermione’s face narrow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But you have to leave. You don’t belong here - not anymore.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Those eyes harden, and that jaw clenches, and it might be Hermione’s body but it really doesn’t look like her at all. “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>do.</span>
  </em>
  <span> I am not leaving. This day was foretold by the seers of old. With the power of the ifrit, </span>
  <em>
    <span>the world is ours.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She sighs, knowing it was going to come to this all along. “No, Mum, this is not our world. And I am afraid that you have to leave.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shutting her eyes, she takes a deep breath. She has never banished an undead spirit before, but she knows exactly how to do it now, and she calls forth the ancient magic of the ifrit which is bound to her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her fingers tingle and begin to glow with a bright white light. Her hands remain steady as she slowly directs the light towards her mother, and a gentle glow envelopes Hermione’s body, as light as an embrace.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No-!” gasps her mother, writhing in the air, and Astoria smiles sadly as her mother shrieks with Hermione’s voice, resisting getting dragged away to the last.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A sulphuric smell burns through the air, and as the shrieking stops, she sees that Hermione becomes Hermione again, looking around for just a moment in exhausted, pained confusion. All of the horrors inflicted upon her throughout the day seem to catch up with her at once, and her body trembles violently as her gaze darts around desperately before her panicked eyes settle on Draco. Her lips twitch into a tired, twisted smile before her eyes roll upwards and flutter shut.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria watches Hermione collapse in a broken, bloody heap, with whatever remaining life left inside her draining away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hermione!” cries Draco, rushing forward to catch her just before she hits the ground. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria watches the scene play out with a tinge of faraway sadness, as Draco falls to his knees and lovingly cradles Hermione in his arms, desperately searching for a sign of life.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hermione,” she hears him whisper, feeling something like an intruder in a private moment. “Hermione, you can’t be gone, gods, don’t leave me. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I love you.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With a sigh, she ignores the broken sobs escaping Draco’s lips for now and turns to her sister, still standing and watching her in quiet melancholy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You will have to go as well, you know,” she tells the ifrit tethered to Daphne. “I am sorry, but you will be unbound once more - you will be free to return from whence you came.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne nods, blood-red eyes large and sad. “We - we love you. We do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know,” she replies with a sad smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Again, she calls upon her strange new power, enveloping her sister in a bright white light. With a howl of sadness, the ifrit begins to unbind itself from Daphne. Her sister’s body twists violently as she morphs back into herself, shrinking, declawing, and crumbling with a violent shriek to the ground. The ifrit swiftly departs, diving towards the hole in the earth with no real interest in mortal affairs now that it has been released.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tori?” gasps Daphne weakly, body quivering and eyes darting madly in all directions. “We - I - we did it? I saved you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She takes a step towards her sister, taking a trembling hand into her own as she gazes upon her. She touches a finger to her sister’s cheek, healing a scratch there as Daphne stares at her in awe.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m safe, Daph,” she says quietly. “You’re my guardian angel, aren’t you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne’s eyes are huge and sad and scared, but eventually she nods. “I...said I was going to bring you back, and I did, didn’t I? Love...it’s the most powerful magic there is, Mum always said so. The fire, Tori...it was beautiful, wasn’t it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She gently lays her broken sister onto the earth and presses a hand to Daphne’s forehead, hand alight with magical energy once more. “Rest now, Daphne.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After watching Daphne sink into an uneasy slumber, she rises again, turning to face her husband.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There is shouting and a loud magical explosion in the distance as the aurors close in, fighting against the terrified remaining guards.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She watches Draco and Hermione quietly, savoring the moment. This is the end of something, and the start of something else. She feels the distant pain of heartbreak, almost as though it happened to another person long ago, and yet it still lingers, a deep aching imprinted upon her very soul.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione is deathly pale and no longer breathing, though still alive, barely clinging to the final shreds of life within her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Astoria,” Draco gasps, bloodshot eyes wide and so desperately in love as he stares at her searchingly. “Please...will you help?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She smiles softly, having known the answer to that question for eons. She comes to her knees at his side and takes his hand, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his cheek.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His lips are trembling as he gazes at her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still holding him, she moves them together to rest their hands over Hemione’s heart.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco’s hand is shaking as he lets out a quiet sob, splaying his fingers across her chest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She squeezes his hand tenderly, remembering how Hermione had grasped her hand once so comfortingly. She thinks that this will be the last time they ever touch, and she closes her eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The tips of her fingers feel warm, and soon they are engulfed in a bright, blindingly white light.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She feels the quiet, gentle throbbing of Hermione’s heart under her palm, and she smiles.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0030"><h2>30. Hermione 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Hero Auror Gives Interview!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Hero of the Egyptian Episode, Auror Roger Davies, sat down with this reporter to give an account of his courageous actions on the fabled All Hallow’s Eve nightmare.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Together, in conjunction with our ICW representative Virgil Strongbark and Egyptian Head Auror Amir Nazari, we were able to thwart a nefarious plot which would have been absolutely devastating to the international wizarding community,” Davies explains.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Sources close to the Minister of Magic suggest that Davies may be on the shortlist of candidates for Deputy Minister in the upcoming election.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>See our full interview with the hero of the hour, newly promoted Auror Captain Roger Davies, on page 4.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Meanwhile! The Beauxbatons Academy of magic has announced a vacancy in the Ancient Runes department. Published scholars from around the world are encouraged to apply, and of course fluency in French is a requirement.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Meanwhile! Could Cupid be making a visit to London these days? Famed alchemist and brand new Order of Merlin recipient Danny Kershaw was seen out on the town with none other than Hermione Granger. The two brilliant scholars were spotted enjoying a Wimbourne Wasps victory before carousing with several members of the quidditch team in Diagon Alley late into the night. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“They seem quite smitten with each other,” a source close to the couple informs us. “Tell your photographers to keep a close eye on her ring finger!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Neither Granger nor Kershaw provided a comment for this story.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>For more, turn to page 21 for a recap of the Wasps victory, and page 36 for the society pages, including new details of the mysterious ongoing bad luck befalling the Greengrass family.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione huffs to herself and tosses the newspaper down onto her desk, torn between flipping to page 36 to see what further sorts of lies are being spilled by these so-called journalists with their so-called sources or simply incinerating the stupid thing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She has three piles of papers sitting in front of her. It is far more unorganized than typical for her office, and it might have seen her throw a fit mere months ago, but now it only causes a minor buzzing in the back of her head. The aforementioned newspaper is in the first pile. A lengthy scroll detailing a somewhat dull sounding potential contract from Gringotts to help translate ancient banking records in northern Ireland is another. The third, her familiar folder containing every single scrap of information she knows about Violet Evilian.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Keep Harry and Ginny safe. Keep the Weasleys safe. Keep her parents safe. Keep Draco safe.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She glares at the newspaper and thinks about the glaring omissions to go along with the outright lies.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The papers had been running stories for weeks about the Egytian Episode, as they dubbed it. Her name along with Draco’s, not to mention most of the accurate details of the event, had miraculously been left out of nearly every article - except, apparently, the gossip columns. She suspects Roger had a lot to do with that, though aside from assuring herself of his survival and general well-being, she has not felt particularly inclined to pursue that working relationship any longer. At any rate, she is grateful to see that Amir has garnered some credit, and resolves to return his most recent letter before the end of the week.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Despite the posting of a vacancy, there has been little mention in the papers of the fact that one Professor Grant Devlin was not only sacked from his position as the Ancient Runes professor, but in fact was sentenced to two years in Azkaban for colluding with Dark Wizards.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It still stings faintly to think about the multiple layers of his betrayal. They had been quite close for a time, and the feeling of waking up in that cell in the Necropolis and realizing the extent of his treachery still haunts her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She gently prods the knife wound on her left side with her fingers and hisses at the sensation. While she is grateful to no longer be bleeding all over everyone, it had taken quite a bit of time for the healers to devise a solution to that particular problem. The wound has left a fairly nasty scar in its wake, which still flares up in a burning pain from time to time and almost seems to be crawling around inside her, as if wanting to make an escape from the cage of her body. Violet Evilian, it seems, had coated her knife blade with some sort of unidentifiable poison which is still causing complications for the healing process.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Violet herself, unfortunately, could not be interrogated about what poisons she may have used or why. Despite being unconscious and tied up in a structure swarming with aurors by the end of the night, the woman has not been seen since. An international search is underway, though Hermione is unable to conjure much confidence in their ability to be successful. None of this information is on the public record, of course, contained entirely within classified Ministry documents - and, of course, one growing folder in Hermione’s office.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She stares at the file heavily.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Violet is a threat. A threat to her friends. A threat to her family.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A threat to Draco.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A threat to herself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her hands still twitch from time to time and she can hardly sleep without the aid of potions.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She sinks heavily into her chair and sighs, reaching out with an unsteady hand to open her desk drawer and withdraw Ron’s little black box. She stares at it forlornly for a long moment. His voice in her mind has been quiet since that night at the Necropolis, and she isn’t entirely sure how to feel about that fact. She wants to be grateful, but losing it entirely lends a certain finality about his death that she has never quite allowed herself to fully feel.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hesitantly, she flicks the box open with her thumb. She sees the expected glint of a golden ring, and the unexpected piece of parchment which falls out of the box. Frowning slightly, she picks the parchment up and glances it over. She immediately recognizes Ron’s charmingly messy scrawl.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Hermione,</span>
  </em>
  <span> the note says. </span>
  <em>
    <span>If you’re reading this, then please, please, please stop going through my things. I promise to get better at organizing my stuff. I love you.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She only realizes that she is crying when her own tear falls from her cheek and dots itself onto the parchment. Conjuring a chain, she threads it through the simple, lovely ring and smiles, pulling it over her head and promising to keep Ron with her near her heart forever.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She clutches the ring on her new necklace tightly, shuts her eyes for a moment, and braces herself against the desk heavily as a dizzy spell nearly overcomes her. She can almost feel a migraine bearing down on her. The healers had said these sorts of events would stop soon, but she is not so sure. Between all the damage she sustained over such a short period of time, not to mention the fact that her brain was quite literally invaded, she almost wonders if it might be something - else. Something undefinable.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rolling her eyes at herself for the deeply unanalytical thought, she suddenly finds herself rifling through the newspaper to sodding page 36, ostensibly to look at photos and certainly </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> to read about the Greengrass family or anyone who might be related to them through marriage.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Several pieces of information become clear to her at once.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The first is that whoever was observing them from the newspaper that night had been somewhat sneaky. She is admittedly curious about what sorts of photos there might be of her brief evening out with Danny - which had hardly been </span>
  <em>
    <span>carousing</span>
  </em>
  <span> by any stretch of the definition, as alcohol was listed under the ‘strongly recommended to avoid’ section under her current potions regimen. She hadn’t even attended the quidditch game itself. The two of them had gone to dinner in her first venture outside of either her hospital room or her own home. It had been quite a stressful evening, however, what with snapping her head around every time the door opened or the floo roared to life as though Violet Evilian might show up to a random pub in Diagon Alley in order to exact revenge.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Danny had noticed her twitchiness and accompanied her home, politely forgoing the opportunity to go to some sort of after party with the Wasps’s tall, lanky seeker.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What she really notices is that the photograph of the two of them at dinner is - sweet, almost. It is somewhat like looking at a stranger, seeing the brief but genuine smile on her face, even momentarily turning into an actual laugh as Danny in the photo makes a silly face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It seems odd. She remembers having had fun that evening for brief moments at a time in between panic attacks whenever she could even briefly allow herself to relax and </span>
  <em>
    <span>forget,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but she doesn’t remember when simply being happy became such a foreign concept for her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In any case, she reminds herself that she owes Ginny an owl explaining that no, she and Danny are </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> an item, and she should know better than to believe the trash they print in these gossip rags.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The second thing she notices is an update about the poor Greengrass heiress, the eldest daughter Daphne. Apparently, according to sources, with her father having been coerced into helping the evil Sebek-ari advance the Egyptian Episode plot before being coldly murdered by his long time friend, poor Daphne had been driven mad. The poor, poor girl now resides in the Janus Thickey Ward at St. Mungo’s, blubbering madly about oddly unrelated things, such as that the beautiful fire is coming to cleanse them all, but a family vacation to France might be nice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shudders at the sudden onslaught memories, attempting to focus on the words on the page and </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> the horrible image of getting lifted into the air by the neck and nearly getting strangled to death by a monster with a hint of Daphne’s face, which leads her to the third piece of information.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Astoria Malfoy née Greengrass has apparently quietly finalized her divorce with one Draco Malfoy. Sources indicate that the separation was amicable in nature, as the Malfoys, despite the recent lift of their banishment from Britain, can hardly be expected to hold the moral high ground when it comes to family disgraces. Miss Greengrass has been something of a recluse since the news broke, with even the most dedicated paparazzi unable to snap a photo of her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She stares at the words, which suddenly seem to be garbled on the page as she is unsure what to make of it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her memories of that horrible night in the Necropolis are somewhat fuzzy, much to her chagrin. She is keenly aware that this is due to excessive blood loss in conjunction with poison, a concussion, the Cruciatus Curse, violently invasive legilimency, oxygen restriction, severe sleep deprivation, overuse of awakening potions, and getting nearly shoved outside of her own consciousness by some sort of undead spirit deciding to take up residence in her brain.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Despite her frustration, rationally she knows that it makes sense that her memories are a bit - confusing. Her stay at the hospital immediately afterwards was even more vague in her mind, what with the intensity of the treatments and the nearly overwhelming constant migraines. But through it all, she could swear that she remembers </span>
  <em>
    <span>him.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She remembers her eyes fluttering open and seeing him there, helping her take a much-needed blood replenishing potion.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She remembers gently brushing a bit of blood off his cheek.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She remembers leaning closely against him, absorbing the warmth of his body desperately.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She remembers his eyes, staring at her with an expression that maybe looked a little bit like love.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She remembers pressing her lips to his, soft and gentle as the wind whipped around them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Did I mention that I love you?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> he had said with a half-smile on his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She remembers waking up in terrible pain from an awful, vacant darkness and seeing his tear-stricken face above her before the aurors stormed in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In her mind, it all adds up to something quite clear, and yet she finds herself wondering if she is missing an important memory, or if she has somehow misinterpreted far more than she thought was possible.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She has not seen Draco once since that night.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He did not visit her in the hospital, he did not send any owls inquiring after her well being, and he did not call on her at her home or office. He has been back in England, according to the papers, but not a single word.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With a growl, she slashes her wand through the air and incinerates the stupid newspaper. She uncomfortably watches the flames lick the air, suddenly vividly remembering being surrounded by a wall of fire while face to face with a towering monstrosity.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sleep has largely been an exercise in frustration since the war, and her experiences in Egypt have done nothing to improve that fact. Sometimes she wakes up in the dead of night from new versions of horrible old nightmares, agonizingly remembering the curses ripping through her body and the scorching heat of the ifrit’s flames before waking with a strangled cry and a violently beating heart.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shudders slightly as the newspaper burns away until all that remains are ashes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She is torn from her reverie by the sound of a throat clearing from behind her and a swift rapping at the door of her office.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Startled, not having been expecting anyone, she whips around with her wand drawn, almost expecting to see the sneering face of Violet Evilian behind a blinding purple light hurtling directly towards her-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Lighting things on fire already? I suppose you’re not happy to see me then?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She blinks, heart still racing and clearly not planning on slowing down at the sight of not Violet, but an entirely different blond standing in her doorway looking rather perplexed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“What-”</span>
  </em>
  <span> she hears herself put an extra ‘h’ or two into the word, “-are you doing here?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco clears his throat awkwardly and crosses his arms, leaning against the doorframe with a hint of a familiar grin on his face. “Well, I came to see you. What are </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> doing here besides starting fires and nearly hexing your visitors?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He raises his eyebrows and nods at her wand, still drawn in her white-knuckled grip. She cringes before forcing herself to attempt to relax, shoving her wand back in her pocket. She takes a slow, deep breath and attempts to force her occlumency shields into place before making eye contact with him once again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She has not had much cause to use it, but the act of occlumency seems to have become far more painful since that night at the Necropolis, resulting in a searing headache that makes the backs of her eyes ache.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Just as she used to be back in their little safe house in France, she is almost loath to admit that he looks quite good. He is wearing a nicely tailored black suit and has gotten what was surely an expensive haircut since she last saw him (eyes red with tears, gasping against her skin and holding her close).</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m working,” she eventually replies, keeping her voice calm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His grin rapidly fades and he clenches his jaw. “Please don’t do that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do what?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on, Hermione. Do you really think I can’t tell when you’re occluding? After everything, I - well, I’d hoped you wouldn’t need to use it with me anymore.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She stares at him for a long moment, unsure of how to respond. It really is his fault for constantly making her feel off-kilter, ever since the first day they reconnected when he kissed her and pranced around like a naked idiot, what seems like a lifetime ago in Paris. Still, she supposes he has a point, and so she tentatively nods. Dropping the shields in her mind is like throwing something heavy to the ground in a nearly overwhelming sense of relief, and she almost vows right then and there to never use that sort of magic again if she can help it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco is observing her under hooded eyes with something like concern on his face, and she finds that she does not like it one bit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Feels better, doesn’t it?” he asks, eyes sharp and she thinks she knows him well enough to tell that he is annoyed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Somewhat,” she sighs, already off-kilter once again and entirely unsure about the purpose of this spontaneous visit after weeks of nothing. Her heart feels funny and somewhat twisty in her chest. She wants to say - something, but he somehow always manages to make her feel overwhelmed and slightly at a disadvantage. Diving into the conversational realm of deeply personal topics feels too risky at the moment considering her current state, so she settles with a reasonable question. “Why are you here?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shifts his weight slightly, looking a little uneasy as he reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a small box, which looks as though it has been magically shrunk. “I brought you a gift. It’s sort of traditional to get someone a gift after they save your life. Not to mention the equally important tradition of getting someone a gift after they provide you the opportunity to bring your grateful mother and somewhat less grateful git of a father out of exile and back home to their ancestral manor. It’s a multi-purpose gift.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She blinks, utterly at a loss to explain - anything. Nothing for weeks, and then he shows up out of the blue with a gift and - what does he expect? Does he think she should be rushing straight into his arms? Or is this something else?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He watches her watching him and a faint blush stains his cheeks. “Typically when one is offered a gift, they accept it and say thank you so everyone can move on.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Move on,” she repeats in hardly a whisper, heart wrenching horribly in her chest. She peers at him closer, wondering how she could have gotten this so entirely wrong. He had been very sure not to visit her in the hospital, and was now bringing her a - what, a breakup gift? - to further crystallize the fact that he did not, in fact, have any feelings for her and wanted to make sure it was equally clear to her?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She brings a tired hand to her forehead, thinking that everything in the room seems a bit too bright and that the pending migraine might swallow her up at any moment. It almost feels like they are back in the damned safe house, each trying to out-analyze the other without actually asking what they might be thinking. She had nearly convinced herself that she was wrong back then, and that he actually did develop some sort of genuine feelings for her, and yet-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Draco, tell me what you mean, would you? You didn’t come to see me once in the hospital, and you - what, wanted to pop in and say there are no hard feelings? You just want to </span>
  <em>
    <span>move on?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her heart feels even more exhausted than the rest of her, nearly worn out from having had to deal with this rollercoaster of their confusing semi-relationship.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He scoffs at her. “That’s not - look, I had to recover for a few days as well, and then fucking Davies wouldn’t let me near you at the hospital. You were under armed guard, didn’t you know that? I wasn’t about to get myself killed by some half-witted auror after having just recently survived a literal death demon with a personal grudge.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You - didn’t owl me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You didn’t owl </span>
  <em>
    <span>me.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She attempts another deep breath, wondering why conversations with him under other than life or death conditions always feel like a battle. Her lungs feel as though they are contorting about within her chest. “I’ve been out of the hospital for nearly two weeks.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His scowl darkens. “Right, well, I’ve had some personal issues to sort out with my - family. My parents moved back into the Manor just the other day, and Astoria...well...”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A twinge of guilt passes over her as he trails off and she glances down at her feet. “How is Astoria?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A long pause.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She’s - different now. About as well as can be expected, I suppose, all things considered. She’s sort of learning to exist with this new form of magic, it’s - bizarre. She...I expect she’ll use it for good.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She nods in agreement, and despite her worry for her almost-friend, a part of her dearly wishes she could have seen what had happened when Draco used the Eye. Apparently Astoria had brought her back from the brink of death, though she has little memory of that particular event. The Eye itself is being studied at Beauxbatons, with her contract considered fulfilled, but apparently it doesn’t have as much in the way of magical energy as the scholars had hoped for.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Clearly, Draco and Astoria had both kept their mouths shut about what really happened with the Eye that night.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She briefly wonders if there is any amount of time that could pass which would allow Astoria to feel comfortable seeing her, though she feels as though it may be improbable at best. She isn’t even entirely sure how to pass along her thanks for Astoria having saved her life, as asking Draco to do so on her behalf doesn’t exactly seem proper.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You may have heard, but Astoria and I agreed to - ah, move on from our marriage. After, well, everything.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She nods again, slowly, and raises her eyes to him once more. She almost allows herself to feel hopeful, but wills herself not to react, just in case. He still looks displeased, and she has no idea why. Does he blame her for the disintegration of his marriage? For Astoria’s current state? For his own issues? It would be a reasonable enough stance to take, certainly. None of it would have occurred if not for her initially approaching him in Paris and offering him a job.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stares at her, clearly frustrated and lets out a huff of breath before running a hand through his hair. “Merlin’s beard, it feels as though we’re back in the damned safe house. Well, it’s clear that you don’t want me here. I suppose I may have misinterpreted - quite a few things. I’ll just go then. Have a nice life, Granger, I do mean that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he spins on his heel she gapes at him for just a moment, heart slamming against her chest in a panic, and before she knows it she has already darted forward to desperately grasp his hand. “Wait-! Draco - wait, please. What is wrong with you!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He turns back in some surprise, glancing down at her hand clutching his tightly as though her life depends on it and refusing to let him go. She thinks if anyone were to spy upon them at that moment, they would look completely ridiculous. Him, one foot out the door and body twisted around to look at her. Her, clinging to him desperately with wide eyes and shaking hands.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hermione...” he sighs. “You don’t have to do this. Look, I know we’ve been through a lot. We said some things, but...I meant it when I said I loved you. You’ve looked half ready to apparate out of this room ever since I walked in, and I suppose you’ve got Kershaw waiting around pining for you. If you don’t want - if I’m just causing you pain, then - well, I’d hate to be the cause of even more of it for you. So - if you drop my hand, I’ll just go.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her jaw nearly drops at that less-than-eloquent speech, and her grip on his hand tightens until his fingers begin to turn bright red. “Draco...you are an idiot.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He frowns at her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is that really what this is about? You daft idiot! Why is it that we’re only able to properly communicate with each other when one of us is actively in the process of dying?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stares at her cautiously, and she huffs indignantly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If I’ve seemed out of sorts, it’s because I was startled when you walked into my office, and irritated at you for not having visited me at all in over a month. Not even a single letter. If you expected me to fall to my knees in gratitude for your having deigned to finally come see me in person, then you clearly don’t know me very well.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His frown deepens and he looks at her closely as if analyzing her response for any flaws. A tentative hint of hope lingers on his face. “And...Kershaw?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She halfway drags him back into her office and shuts the door behind him, still absolutely refusing to drop his hand. “Danny’s a friend, Draco. That’s all. I wouldn’t have survived the Necropolis without his help. Don’t tell me you believe the gossip rags, do you? Never took you for the sort, considering what they’ve said about </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> over the years. You’ve a bit of a notorious reputation, did you know that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He still seems a little dubious, so she rolls her eyes, deeply annoyed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Besides - I’m not exactly his type. At the risk of inflating your already massive ego, you fit the mold more so than I do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He holds her gaze for a long moment, and she can practically see him processing all the new information in front of him. Eventually, much to her delight, a faint smile appears on his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I always said Kershaw was a good bloke, didn’t I? Smart man, with excellent taste.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She lets out an abrupt laugh before she hesitates, staring into his steely eyes for a moment. “You did mean it though? That you - love me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His faint smile slowly broadens into a familiar grin. “I did. I do. And let’s not forget that you said it to me first. Twice! So I win, and you’re not allowed to take it back.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She throws rather than drops his hand and stomps back towards the piles of paperwork on her desk, nearly overwhelmed by the sudden warm, fluttery feelings flowing through her. “You are absolutely ridiculous.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He follows right behind her, taking her hand and spinning her around to face him, effectively trapping her between her desk and his body. His hands come to rest gently at her hips, and his smile is back to his typical grin now. “I am. I’m sorry. I already tried to give you an apology gift, however, which you rejected. It was a complete signed set of the Agatha Vixen: Magiarchaeologist books, and alas, I’m keeping them now. What a waste of an excellent joke. Am I forgiven?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Less stressed out now that she finally has a grasp on his intentions yet still entirely unsure of how to be at ease with him, she slowly, tensely reaches up and wraps her hands behind his neck, pulling him closer. His hips brush against hers as he presses her into the desk. “Hmm, well no, not yet, though I have an idea or two as to how you can make it up to me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have </span>
  <em>
    <span>far</span>
  </em>
  <span> more than one or two ideas, and I’ve been perfecting them since you saved my life and told me you love me, I’ll have you know. It - </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> still true, isn’t it? I - well, I don’t want to presume-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She drags him closer, pressing her lips to his lightly for a moment, delighting in the hitched breath he takes against her. “Draco...you’re awfully needy,” she whispers with a smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He groans, pulling back to gaze at her with a lopsided grin. “I am, it’s true. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>need</span>
  </em>
  <span> to shag you on this desk right now, but it seems you’ve checked out the entire library and piled all the looseleafs here in an attempt to stymie me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She glances behind her at the little piles of paper. The newspaper is only a pile of ashes. The contract seems rather uninteresting, and she intends to politely decline the offer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The file on Violet, meanwhile, seems to be almost staring at her curiously.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Every fiber of her being is screaming at her to track the woman down. Every action she ever takes serves a purpose. She has to protect her friends, her family. She has to hunt Violet down and ensure she spends the rest of her life behind bars as a punishment for her crimes. For what she did to Ron. For the countless lives she has ruined.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She has to make sure Violet is no longer a threat, and that those she loves are safe.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It all feels so - </span>
  <em>
    <span>heavy.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her hand trembles slightly in Draco’s grasp.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He is watching with a faint smile on his lips, but there is a cautious gaze flickering behind his eyes as if he can sense her unease.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She leans into his arms, resting her forehead heavily against his chest, and for a moment simply lets him hold her while she breathes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It is heavy, all of it. It’s so heavy, but she thinks that if she asked him to help her carry the burden, he would.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It is not an easy decision to make. It is far more difficult than she can admit even to herself, but after offering him a slight smile, she reaches behind her and swipes her arm across the desk, knocking her carefully organized paperwork to the ground.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The scrolls and the files will be there tomorrow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In response, Draco brings a hand to her cheek and cups her face, gazing at her as intently as he did that night at the Necropolis.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After a beat, he grins at her as if he can will away all the lingering tension and awful memories, lifting her by her waist and depositing her on her desk. “You’re sure this isn’t a trick? You’re not going to blame me for getting everything so disorderly and hex my bits off, are you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her migraine which had seemed so imminent just minutes ago seems to have agreed to give her a reprieve, and her head is, finally, somewhat clear for the moment. It all feels so incredibly tentative, so tenuous, but it’s finally </span>
  <em>
    <span>real.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He smiles at her and his eyes are bright, and she thinks that it may be the first time she has seen him be so genuinely happy in front of her. He takes a step closer. She holds him tightly and breathes him in. He presses his lips to hers firmly, comfortingly, and she relaxes somewhat into his grasp.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not sure how clear your memory is of - that night,” he continues after a moment. “But the one bit I remember the most is you promising me dinner and a shag. I decided to stay alive and everything on account of looking forward to it. Let me take you to dinner tonight?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I thought you said you </span>
  <em>
    <span>need</span>
  </em>
  <span> to shag me on my desk right now.” She plays along for now, temporarily ignoring her migraines, her trembling hands, and her inevitable future hunt for Violet Evilian. She nips at his ear lightly before pulling back to gaze at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He groans, leaning in to press his forehead to hers gently. His eyes are afire.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tonight works,” she smiles and kisses him lightly. “So does tomorrow night.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And the night after that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mmm, yes, that works too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And what about the night after that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm, no, I’m meeting Harry and Ginny for dinner. Would...well, would you want to join?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His familiar sneer is back with a vengeance, though it doesn’t quite meet his playful eyes. “Absolutely not. Are you sure they wouldn’t try to hex me for corrupting you or something? I have a feeling there will be hexes if I go. A lot of hexes, probably. I don’t like getting hexed, Granger.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She leans in to kiss him once more and he grins.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t worry,” she says with a smile, searing a desperate promise against his lips. “I’m going to keep you safe.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And here we are! I hope you enjoyed the ending, I would love to know your thoughts. Thank you so much for reading, and double thank you to everyone who took the time to leave a comment on this story (I have treasured every single one!).</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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